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" 42 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Spill something on your shirt, Jim?"
Before Jim could react to the wet spot centering on his left pec, Alex was there to the rescue with a towel.
"Um, thanks," Jim replied, taking over for Alex, blotting the postcard-sized blotch.
"No problem," Alex said, carrying on with his other duties.
'Good thing, too,' Jim said to himself, picking up a certain scent on the towel, plus his shirt. He thought to himself, a slight smile on his face, 'no wonder gay boys are naked when they have sex!'
Ten feet behind him, his manager, Bill, the one he sucked til his mouth reached capacity, overflowing, headed towards the front of the cafe, a light coat zippered up over him.
"I won't be back for the rest of the day," Bill mentions to Jim, "and don't forget, we have a date tonight at my place... six?"
"Six? I thought it was seven?" Jim responded.
With a smile, slightly evil in nature, Bill simply said, "I can't wait to get my hands on you!" With that, he was out the front door.
It made Jim a little nervous, yet excited. Almost as exciting as his encouter with Bill a few minutes ago, kneeling in front of him and doing his best to give his manager an awesome cocksucking. He smiled when he thought of trying to gulp down Bill's manseed, coming out faster than he could swallow. It made him think of the reason Alex gave him the towel. He smelled it, wondering if his shirt gave off the same strong, saltly scent. Not taking any chances of sporting any wet spots on his pants, he detoured to the men's jon.
Meanwhile, at a table far across the Coffee Bean, a customer is raising his voice. "Uh oh," Alex says, leaving the table he's tidying up and hustles over. "Problem?"
"I'd like to see the manager. Are you all incompetent fools? Doesn't anyone around here know how to pour coffee 'in the cup'?"
If the customer wasn't anygry, Alex might have laughed, taking his remark as a joke. However, he could see Derek not having a great day as it is, along with his Latino tan turning red from embarrassment.
"Why don't we all calm down?" Alex says, his ten fingers up, visualizing the noise level dropping. "I'm sure we can work things out here, sir." Whipping his towel off of his shoulder, Alex proceeds to sop up the table cloth. Not thinking, he continues off the edge of the table, tapping it a few times on the patron's thigh. He didn't notice it was the key to quieting down the customer. Same time, Alex was apologizing, saying, "The manager isn't here right now, but I can..."
"No. Forget it," the gentleman, looking to be around forty, states.
If Alex only knew what that small touch to the thigh had done for this customer. Deep down inside, Alex hadn't a clue to the electricity of his young touch to an older man's leg, the implications it provided to a man whom thought he was way over the hill for any type of relationship with a man, be it a companion, friendship or something more. 'Something more' was way on the back burner for this graying forty-four year old.
"By the way, did you purchase your suit at Braddock's?"
Derek, seeing Alex doing a better job healing things than he had of messing them up, slowly he backed away til he could make a getaway, heading for the kitchen.
His little disappearing act didn't go unnoticed, the customer saying, "Sure. Run away... when the going gets tough - quit..."
It ticked Alex off to see Derek treated in this manner. For sure he wouldn't want to receive a tongue-lashing dealt out to him. "Excuse me, but I think you're over reacting. Besides," he reasoned, "you don't know anything about Derek so you shouldn't go putting him down." Alex began rearranging things on the table, grouping the cream and sugar together. Giving the guy the silent treatment, he brushed a few crumbs into his hand. Before he left, he asked, "Will there be anything else?"
"Yes, matter of fact. You can send that young man back out to my table."
"Sorry, but I think Derek has had enough torment for one day and..."
"I like your attitude, young man.... um," the customer spots Alex's name tag, "Mr. Alex...."
"It's Alex," Alex corrects him, tapping a pencil on his order pad.
"Alex... yes..." Then extending a hand, "The name's Karl van der Linde."
At first Alex hesitated, then decided maybe the guy wasn't so bad after backing off of his complaints and acting more friendly. So he returned the gesture, reiterating, "Alex", adding, "Nouguet."
"Nouguet. French, right?" Karl pointed his finger at Alex.
Just as they were getting off on a happy note, the climate was about to change.
"Sorry I'm late."
Suddenly Alex's attention was totally drawn from Karl van der Linde, to the young fellow taking the other seat. It tickled his loins to feast his eyes on the guy.
"You were supposed to meet me at nine o'clock, young man."
"So I'm late. Read me my rights," the kid answered sarcasically.
Alex thought, 'Here comes World War III!'
"Don't you talk like to me young man!"
Standing there with his mouth dropped open, Alex couldn't believe what just took place, as Karl reached across the table and slapped the young guy, sending him reeling off his chair, his ass pouncing on the floor.
Getting up, he yelled, "Fuck you!" to Karl. However, bumping into Alex, he offered a decent "Excuse me," before storming out of the shop.
"That boy. He's getting feistier with each passing day."
Figiting with things on the table, van der Linde replaced items where they were before Jason took a spill off of his chair, his had knocking over some of the table setting. It bought Alex some time, watching van der Linde clean up after the brief brunch guest, at the same time trying to find a dead interval, upon which he would make a clean breakaway. Alex had a fine record here at the Coffee Bean, not wishing to mar his name, figuring he's built up a good source of clientele for the cafe. Without thinking, he smiled when van der Linde uprighted the salt shaker, tossing a few grains over his shoulder. The superstition planted a though in Alex's mind.
"Does that really work?"
"What?" van der Linde replied.
"Throwing the salt over your shoulder? For myself I don't believe in that stuff," Alex spoke truthfully.
"It can't hurt." He then changed the subject, landing on a negative note, "I mean, here I am doing 'your' job while you stand around as if I'm your Goddam slave!"
Alex thought he had a lot of audacity to even think up such nonsense, especially when he was the vehicle which set Jason in motion to create the messy mixture of salt, pepper, sugar and a little cream, strewn together as if a work of modern art. "Begging your pardon, but none of this would have happened if you didn't chew out.... I take it Jason is your son?"
Sitting back, Karl stared Alex in the face, trying to make up his mind about the character the tall, dark haired, extremely handsome waiter. With the overall assessment, it didn't take long for Karl's attitude to mellow out, the stressful anger subsiding. Exhaling, van der Linde reduced himself to someone he rarely became, only to very special people, which wasn't more than a few, apologizing with, "Look. I'm sorry." Then, with a lighter tune, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
Looking around, the cafe wasn't even half as busy as two hours earlier, yet Alex knew the rules and one was not spending idle time with a customer. However, still on his mind was the 'hot guy'! "Maybe I can take five minutes," Alex replied, sitting down in the vacated chair, picking up the napkin on the floor and tidying up the place setting.
As Karl began serving Alex a cup of java, he poured out his problems, "As you thought, Jason is my son... well my step-son. As you can tell, we don't get along too well."
Not sure if Jason were in high school or first year college, Alex played it neutral asking, "Is Jason in school?"
"I'd like to say yes, but he's more out than attending classes I fear. I think he hangs out with the wrong crowd."
Not getting the answer he wanted, Alex inquired, "What school?"
"The Fashion Institute." Karl cut Alex off, saying, "Don't that beat all? Here I offer to pay his way through college to make something of himself... a lawyer or doctor and he wants to settle for some sissy job designing clothes!"
Abruptly getting out of his chair, Alex brushed him off quickly, saying, "I really have to get back to work."
Karl's head swung around on his neck like a revolving door, following Alex as he disappeared into the kitchen. Looking around, he saw he was the only patron left in the cafe. To his dismay, neither Alex, Derek, nor anybody else was about. Fed up, not necessarily with Alex nor anyone but himself, he dug two fifties out of his wallet, placing them between the sugar and creamer, and left.
"He's gone!" Derek called out.
Following Derek, Alex looked out the front door of the cafe. "Yeah, he's history."
"Man do I feel sorry for his kid," Derek made light talk as the two approached the messy table, cloth streaked with brown, tiny granules sparkling but tough to see against the white linen.
"Yeah," Alex agreed, embellishing, "and to think he was putting down the school that will someday be my alma mater!" Then seeing Derek wasn't listening to one word he said, Alex asks, "What's up?" his head resting over Derek's shoulder.
"This is 'what's up'!"
"Is that real?"
"Well it ain't Monopoly money!" Derek replies. "Here," he hands Alex the two fifties.
"Um, no thanks," Alex says, putting his hand up like a stop sign, refusing half of the tip.
"Hey you earned it, sticking up for me the way you did, plus taking the old mans grief."
Joking, Alex tells him as he starts clearing, "At least I earned van der Linde's respect... more than he gave his kid."
"Alex, will you cool down?"
"Sure I'll cool down and next time van der Linde comes in 'you' can wait on the bastard!"
Derek knew where Alex was coming from, but he wasn't exactly a guy who lives in the lap of luxury, so stuffed the two fifties in his pocket.
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"What are you looking at, Scott?"
"Here," he handed Kyle an envelope, a twin to the one he had picked up from the floor, after the mail carrier had slid it through the slot in the door. "Good thing you let me use your address at registration. If this got mailed to my sister in Jersey, by the time I caught up with it, it would be graduation day!"
As Scott spoke both were opening their mail, the return address reflecting the location of the International Cooking School, located on E. 28th St.
"No big deal," Kyle said, skimming through his letter.
On the contrary, Scott studied every character, questioning, "What does this mean?"
"Where?" Kyle looked at his copy.
"Paragraph two."
"Where?" he didn't get it.
Condensing things, Scott held his letter in his left hand, dropping to his knee height. Leaning his chest over Kyle's right shoulder, his left cheek about a four inches from Kyle's right cheek, he pointed out, "Right here. See?"
Kyle 'saw' alright, a quick glance to his right, he almost swiped his lips across Scott's cheek! "What are you talking about?"
The subject matter saturating paragraph two, dealt only with aspects of an interview, something a sixth grader could have picked out. However, Kyle was feeling too good, his back feeling up Scott's chest, the warm breath, morning scent streaming in his nostrils as the morning shower was wearing off.
"Right here," his finger began gliding under a sentence, "All students applying for matriculation must appear for a hands-on interview before the end of the month." Backing off, Scott asks, "What do they mean? I thought when I came to New York for the first interview that was it!"
"Not exactly," Kyle replied, a little sorry there wasn't more for Scott to point out to him. "Didn't they inform you of a second interview when you got the.... oh, I forgot. You never received the letter about the tuition hike."
Mentioning the tuition hike, Scott also got riled up about another detail, included in paragraph three. At the onset of his return to point something out to Kyle, his Adam's apple grazed his shoulder. "Here it is. Each student will be required to pay a nonrefundalbe fee of one hundred dollars. Damn, what do they think? Everybody's made of money?"
"Scott, Scott, Scott, you have to calm down."
"Easy for you to say. You're....." he stopped short.
"Loaded?" Kyle replied, smiling, this time face to face with Scott.
Frustrated with the institute and himself, Scott said, "Sometimes I can be such an idiot," his way of apologizing.
"I know," Kyle responded cheerfully. On a whim, his chin jumped forwards, giving Scott a little peck on the cheek, grabbing his arm and telling, "C'mon. Let's get on the phone and schedule our interviews."
"But Kyle," Scott whined, "what about the hundred bucks?"
Facetiously Kyle told him, as he dragged him into the next room, "Oh don't you worry Scotty my boy. When you graduate, you'll be up in the eyeballs indebted to me!"
"Right. With my luck I'll wind up pedaling pretzels on a street corner."
Kyle replies, "That's what I like about you, Scott... always the optomist!"
Picking up the phone, Scott hands it to Kyle, saying, "Just dial?"
Kyle smiles at him, taking the phone.
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"I've been waiting for you to call me. I hope anything bad hasn't happened to you."
At the other end of the line, Dominic jabbers on and on, telling Devon the story of his morning on the way to work.
"Your car broke down and you forgot your wallet? I'm sorry to hear that babe. It happened to me once and... oh, you have to go? Well okay. Keep in touch then."
"Dominic?" Dustin asks.
"The one and only!" Devon says upbeat.
"You like him a lot don't you?"
Thinking about how he could have wound up with a scumbag like Kyle's brother, a trade off, getting the sweetest man to walk this earth, Devon thought himself more than lucky. "Yup and think the feeling is mutual. C'mon. This is our stop."
Getting off the subway at 49th St., the two ascended the stairway, immediately wading into the afternoon lunch crowd.
"Stay close," Devon told Dustin, grabbing the sleeve on his sports jacket.
"Hmm," Dustin replied.
"You're supposed to be thinking about your job interview!" Devon scolded him, returning the smile.
Walking a few blocks south, the two crossed one more intersection, the big yellow sign staring them in the face, reading 'Yucatan Peninsula'.
"Here it is," Dustin said to Devon.
"Well good luck and... hey look! There's the Coffee Bean!"
"So now you have somewhere to go while I'm having my interview," Dustin told him, a bit nervous, wanting to go with Devon to visit Alex rather than meeting Angela Rota, an interview with the famous food columnist.
"You're not nervous are you?" Devon asked, picking a piece of lint off of his navy blue jacket.
"Me? Nervous? Nah."
Devon laughed when Dustin, who can be quite a character, rolled his eyes, then faced the door to the swanky Mexican eatery. Devon waited, watching the doorman open the one of the two wooden doors and admit him. "Sir?" he called out to Devon.
"Oh no. Thanks, but I only came here to see my friend off," Devon replied.
When he first began dating Dominic, things began moving pretty fast. He had to really think quick about whether he really wanted to be with an older man, Dominic being a few years older. Now, the doorman talking up a conversation, obviously trying to come on to Devon, he wondered why he was so drawn to older men, rather than guys his own age.
"Ever been to the Yucatan Peninsula before?"
Now, leaning against the edge of the other two-door entrance, Devon replies, "No matter of fact. I'm new here in town. I haven't seen much of it yet."
"Would you care to take a look?"
"I suppose I can spare a few minutes."
Walking in the place, a guy in a small room to the side asks, "May I take your coat sir?"
While telling the coat-guy he was only here for the tour, Devon turns to see a waiter approach, interrupting the doorman. The waiter tells the doorman, "Be on your guard. Ben Cohen just called and made reservations for four."
"How nice," the doorman says. "I hope he's bring three of his gay friends!"
Figuring out the waiter and doorman shared the same secret he kept from strangers, Devon outed himself, saying, "Would be nice if they were as hot as Ben, huh?"
Pardoning himself, the tall, dark-haired waiter passes by the doorman and approaches Devon, addressing him, "You're pretty hot yourself!"
"Thanks," Devon replied, adding, "you too." Also on his mind, ever since he set foot into the Yucatan, Devon observed the presence of the first three Latino hunks. Now one of them was talking up a more friendlier conversation with him.
"Got a name?" He asked suavely.
Devon came back at him, "How about you go first?"
Hearing the coatroom guy and doorman laugh out loudly, Devon wondered what the joke was.
"Feisty one, aren't you?"
"Nope. I didn't mean to be. Just protecting my 'ass'ets!" Devon replied, recalling a phrase Dominic had used once.
When Dominic's jeep hit the George Washington Bridge, out came all the warnings about hot, suave New York City men and how forward they could be. Now he was witness to it, but heeded Dominic's words of wisdom. He surprised himself that he could think up some catchy phrases so fast, hoping it would ward off the wolf in sheep's clothing.
The doorman said something to the waiter in Spanish, the waiter saying something rash back to him, then turning to Devon, sweetly saying, "Look, I'm sorry if I came on kind of strong. Can we start again?"
Taking the small voice's advice, Devon says, "Sure. We all make mistakes."
"I see," he said, not sure he was doing the right thing, considering this guy had the guts to talk down to him.
"Why not come in and have a cup of coffee on me?"
"Maybe," Devon simply said, still on his guard.
His hand extended, the tall, tanned Latino sweetly smiled after announcing, "Juan de la Vega".
Figuring they were getting off on a new foot, Devon offered his name, returning the tight-lipped smile. Joking, he asked, "You any relation to Zorro?"
"A distant relative," Juan replied. "Would you care to leave your coat?"
Seeing the coatroom dude holding his hand out to receive it, Devon said, "Sure. Why not."
While Devon stripped off his lightweight jacket, Juan was interrupted by another worker, decked out in tux and black bow tie. It gave him a chance find out the identity of the guy who talked behind his back.
"Watch him like a hawk!" the coatroom guy passed on some information to Devon. "Juan 'never' apologizes to anybody. It's usually the other guy fessing up to his wrongs. You got to be somebody special, kid!"
"Really?"
"Just passing on some friendly advice, from one who knows!" he said, his palm on Devon's hand.
"Thanks Raul," Devon replied, receiving a wink and a smile in return.
"Have you had lunch yet?" Juan asked.
Devon thought how fast things had progressed from a cup of java to lunch. A flashback occured from seconds ago, thinking of paying extra special attention to Raul's words of warning.
"No. Actually I was here only to drop my friend off..."
"Is that him over there with Angelo Rota?"
"Angelo?" Devon questioned, as per his conversation with Dustin, taking a closer, long-distance look. "I thought he was a she!"
It took all of a few seconds for Devon to explain Dustin hadn't actually talked with Angelo Rota, his secretary arranging the time and place. He also wondered how Dustin fared, coming face to face with a man and not a woman!
"Angelo Rota? You've never heard of him? He comes into my father's restaurant at least three times a week," Juan dished out the mouthful.
"Your father's restaurant?" Is all that concerned Devon.
"Yes. Now how about that lunch?"
Devon answered a simple, "As long as you're my waiter!"
Even though he joked, Juan's attitude dropped from being upbeat to low-toned, answering, "I am 'not' a waiter. I'm the maitre'd around here," spoken as if the waiters were the scum of the earth.
"Um, okay."
"However," Juan changed his tune, brightening up his outlook a bit, "I'll have our best waiter at your table, if you will have a seat?"
How could Devon not, when Juan pulled out the chair and held it for him, picking up his napkin, unfolding it and handing it to him. At the same time, thoughts drained back into his mind, words spoken by Raul, reminding him to watch Juan like a hawk. While Juan rounded up a waiter for him, Devon looked about the place. A column stood, blocking his view of Dustin and his interviewer.
"Hello. My name is Diego. Mr. Vega has asked me to supply your every need," he told Devon, the exact words Juan had used when rearranging the waiting staff, stretching out the rest of the workforce so that Diego would be waiting on only one table, a luxury usually only affording to special customers, as with celebrities and the like.
"Nice to meet you," Devon lent a hand, introducing himself as "I'm Devon.," Offered a warm hand Devon took it, feeling a camaraderie as if they were long lost friends from years back.
As Diego rattled off the specials of the day, popular items on the menu and a small selection of drinks from the bar, Devon heard very little, more attention paid on analysing the appearance of the man who looked to be in his early to mid thirties.
"So, have you an idea of what you would like to order or do you need more time, sir?"
Devon had to admit to himself the eight page menu was overwhelming, especially when he hadn't the foggiest of what three-fourths of the dishes were composed of. "Um, more like some suggestions?"
He was delighted when Diego took the time to go through almost every item in the menu, translating some Spanish into English, explaining unfamiliar courses, skipping over dishes which Devon pointed out as not too keen on liking certain ingredients. After about ten minutes, their negotiations had been complete.
"You're going to remember everything in your head, Diego?"
"It's a gift," he cheerfully replied, scooting off after cordially excusing himself.
"So, what are we having for lunch today?"
Devon rolled his eyes, hearing the voice of Juan right behind him, before the owner's son took a seat next to him at the table made up for six.
"Diego was very helpful."
"My brother always is! That's why I sent him to you."
"Your brother?" Devon asked, wondering why Juan had been the one blessed with the maitre'd job and Diego waiting tables. He figured the older brother would have the more pretigious postition in the business.
"Yes and he is very knowledgeable, isn't he?"
"Very," Devon agreed.
"Oh my. Look who just walked in!"
His head swishing around, Devon followed Juan from the table to the podium where another worker had posed as maitr'd. His eyes bugged out to see Ben Cohen standing there in the flesh... well, he fantasized about that part! What's more, Juan was leading the quartet over in his direction! He wondered if Ben and Juan old friends or more, considering Juan's arm around Ben's hefty bicep. When the moment of introductions arose, Devon gulped and froze.
Placing his palm on Devon's shoulder, Juan tells Ben, "This is my very good friend, Devon Shears."
Even though Devon was estatic about meeting the rugby star, part of his smile resulted from thinking how fast Juan moved from strangers to 'good friends'. "I can't say I follow sports, Mr. Cohen," Devon replied meekly.
"Not everybody does," he simply stated.
Of the other three companions, the last guy left the most lingering impression. Devon made it a point to make sure Jarrett sat closest to him. Sitting at the head of the table, the most advantageous seat at the six-man table, Devon could see who came and went. Jarrett sat to his right. "There you go," Devon said to Jarrett, handing him his linen napkin after a botched job of Jarrett proceeding to lay it on his lap.
"Thanks," Jarrett replied, both with a seconds-lasting grin at each other.
The four, already known to each other, chose Devon as if he were the star at the table.
"Me?" he responded to Ben's question, replacing his napkin down his stomach, "I'm not sure of my interests as far as education goes."
"Welcome to the club," Steve Eckert replied. "I felt the same way after graduating high school.
Apparently, by the looks of Steve's threads, Abercrombie painted up and down his personage, Devon figured he had to occupy some kind of work.
"What is it you do?"
Ben picked up on Devon's question, replying, "I'm in New York to negotiate a farewell presentation. You've heard I'm retiring from the Northhampton Saints, haven't you?"
Devon didn't even know 'who' the Northhampton Saints were. However, he tried faking his way through, saying, "The Saints. Sure. So, you're retiring are you?"
He also caught Jarrett staring at him, a smile coursing his lips, enough for Devon to summise he knew the truth. He also smiled back when something touched his foot under the table.
After acknowledging Devon, Ben went on to say, "Steve is a well known New York producer and you have had to heard of Hollywood's most influential screenwriter, Luke Evans?"
"Oh sure," Devon replied, again ignorant of either's position of status in the entertainment world. To jump the tracks, he turned to Jarrett and asked, "So, what are you? Ben's manager?"
Diving in, answering for Jarrett, Ben explains, "Actually his father is. Jarrett hasn't seen anyplace outside of Northampton. I told his father I figured he should see the world. With the ethnic diversity of New York, I felt it a good opportunity for Jarrett, since I would be here anyway."
"So how long are you here for?" Devon asked, intended for Jarrett to answer.
However, Ben again spoke for the young man, answering, "I suspect we will be in town for about a week, then head out to LA."
A let down, Devon's excited manner sunk as he said, "Oh. That's a shame."
He perked up when Jarrett announced, "But I'll be in New York until my dad comes to fetch me," he replied in that UK brogue, a combo of English and Irish descent.
"Awesome!" Devon said, his upbeat enthusiasm returning.
"And," Steve then picked up on the conversation, "we were scouting around for someone to show Jarrett the city."
"Know anyone?" Luke asked.
Looking around the table, Devon found four sets of eyes staring at him. He woke up to their intentions when another tap to his right foor occured.
"Um, sure. Me?" He replied, not divulging the fact he was new to New York himself.
"Good," Ben replied, "it's settled then." Patting Jarrett on the thigh, Ben went on to further say, "We'll get you registered at the Waldorf then board our flight."
It's really a crying shame Juan hadn't remained at the table, instead of badgering the chefs in the kitchen, making sure every detail hadn't been spared to prepare the best meal to be had at the Yucatan Peninsula. Angelo Rota had already clued him in on the fact Ben Cohen was in search of a summer guide for his manager's son and he hoped to cinch the deal!
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Copyright 2008 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.