Complementary Colors (19 page)

“They’re all booked up,” the host said. “But your usual table is open.”

“The private table. Preferably a corner seat.”

“Mr. Duvoe…”

“Should I call Shane?”

“Show Mr. Duvoe and his guest to a corner table in the guest hall.”

Robert led the way through the maze of tables and into a secondary room divided by a large door. There, the light was more subtle, the conversation barely a whisper, and the space between tables adequate.

“Your table.” He laid out two delicate cards next to the empty wine glasses. “Would you like me to bring you a bottle?”

“Yes. Make it my usual.” Our waiter left. I laid my coat on the chair next to me and sat. Roy gave his chair a test shake. “I promise it will hold.”

He eased down on the seat.

“See?” I picked up the card. “Order the veal or the lamb, it will go better with the wine.”

Roy flipped the card over. “Where do you see that?”

“I don’t. But they’ll cook it.”

“Not a very big selection.” Roy stared at his card far longer than it took to read five items. “How do you know what everything costs?”

“You don’t. It changes according to the market.”

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table.

“Counting again?”

“Uh—”

The waiter returned with our wine. Roy’s gaze followed the man’s hands as he uncorked the bottle and poured.

“Leave the bottle,” I said, and he did. I poured a drinkable amount into my glass. “That’s why I tell them to leave the bottle.”

Roy read the label. “It’s not very old.”

“It’s a newer wine, and in my opinion, better than some of the older ones.”

Roy picked up his glass and sniffed it.

“What are you doing?”

He sloshed the wine around. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with expensive wine?” He sniffed it again. “What is it I’m supposed to be smelling?”

“Fuck if I know. Just drink it.” I showed him. “That’s how you appreciate a glass of Tignanello.”

“That doesn’t sound French.”

“Italian.”

“Italians make wine?”

“What, you thought the only thing that ever came out of Italy were noodles and tomato sauce?”

“No…I just.” He put down the glass and fumbled with his tie. It was crooked. “Who’s Shane?”

I emptied my glass. “The owner.”

“You know him?”

Sure, I did. I’d probably ruined half a dozen desktop calendars and broken just as many picture frames when I knocked them onto the floor. The words I wanted to say withered. I dropped my gaze. “Not really, why?”

“With the way that guy acted, I thought maybe he was a friend.”

“He hovers around my sister when we eat here. That’s all.” I rubbed a water spot on the base of my wine glass until Roy went back to looking at the menu. “You keep staring at that thing like you’re waiting for it to say something.”

He put it down. “Sorry.”

“If you don’t want the veal or lamb or anything they have listed, I’ll ask them to cook you something different.”

“Why do they have a menu if they’ll cook whatever people want?”

“Because they don’t cook whatever people want. They’ll cook whatever I want.”

“Isn’t that an inconvenience for them?”

“It’s the price they pay if they want my business.”

A couple in the center of the room got up and left. Another waiter came in. He took the order of two older women near the window. One of them wore a green dress, the other one yellow. The muted light made pink streaks in their white hair. A diamond bracelet glittered on the wrist of the woman wearing green.

Roy smoothed out his shirt and attempted to fold back the threads hanging from the right cuff of his jacket.

The waiter paused by our table on his way out. “I’ll be back in a minute to collect your order.”

Roy watched the man leave while he rubbed at the pale strip of skin on his wrist.

“Where’s your watch?” I said.

“Oh, the strap broke. I planned on getting a new one but…” Roy took inventory of the room. His lips moved, and his fingers tapped.

“But what?”

“Huh?”

“You were planning on getting new watchband, but what?”

“I guess I just haven’t had time.” He flipped the menu over and then back.

“Are you going to drink your wine?”

He picked up the glass and took a sip.

“What do you think?”

“I guess it’s good.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with what good wine tastes like.”

“Well, for three hundred and fifty dollars, it’s a very good wine.” I drained my glass. “Do you want another?”

He put the glass back on the table without taking another sip. “No, I’m good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“People actually pay that much for a bottle of wine?”

“People pay a lot more than that for very good wine.”

“This doesn’t qualify as very good wine?”

“For someone who just likes to drink it, sure. For someone who’s a connoisseur, who knows?”

Roy went back to tapping his fingers on the table. One, then two, then back to one. His gaze went from the bottle, to the plate, to the menu.

Three hundred and fifty bucks was half of what Roy rented his apartment for. An apartment he kept cold to save on the electric bill. His sofa was worn down to the springs, and his bed came from The Salvation Army. The rest of his furniture went with the apartment.

And last night, he’d taken the only bill out of his wallet and dropped it into a bucket to help five veterans buy food for the homeless.

“Where’s the last place you ate dinner, Roy?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

A furrow creased his brow. “The Slaughter House.”

“The what?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I know it sounds bad, but they specialize in slaughtered hot dogs, dress them up a hundred different ways.”

“Are they good?”

“You have no idea. And their cheesecake is to die for.”

I stood and put on my coat. “C’mon.”

“Where?”

“Let’s go eat cheesecake.”

His smile was the most beautiful thing I’d seen all day. He started to stand. “Wait, what about dinner?”

“You said the food was good. We’ll eat there.” I jerked my head at the door.

“What about the wine?”

I grabbed the bottle. “If it goes with veal and lamb, I’m willing to bet it will be even better with hot dogs.” Roy followed me to the back of the room, and we slipped through the side door leading into the kitchen.

Men in white jackets and black slacks arranged meats beside vegetables on a canvas of white porcelain. There was a door in the back where the waiters and cooks went to smoke.

Sometimes when the meals got too boring with Julia, I’d slip outside and share a cigarette.

Roy stopped me at the end of the hall. “We need to pay for that.” He nodded at the wine bottle.

“Are you kidding, it was horrible? Practically vinegar.” I pulled him by his hand. “C’mon, before our waiter sees us.” We exited the building and half jogged, half walked our escape.

I made it to the corner before I broke out in laughter. Roy held me up while looking over his shoulder.

“Do you think they’ll call the police?”

Shifting my weight forced Roy’s body flush against mine. “It’s not like we robbed a bank.” I played with the short hairs on the back of his head.

“No, but that wine is three hundred bucks.”

“Three hundred and fifty.”

“We should go back and pay for it.”

“No, we shouldn’t. I told you, it was terrible. Worst wine I’ve ever had.” I took a sip from the bottle and offered it to Roy. He shook his head. “If it makes you feel any better, they would have thrown it out. This way it won’t go to waste.” I drank some more, and it dribbled down my chin. “Sorry, I usually hold my liquor much better than that.”

Roy wiped the droplets away with his thumb. I caught his hand and held it against my cheek. The calluses on his palm scraped against my freshly shaven skin, sending an electric crackle down my spine.

“Paris…” Roy brushed his lips against my temple. I turned my head, hoping to catch his mouth, but he held my face just out of reach.

Under the halogen lights, his green eyes were some shade of black that had no name, clear, dark, and on fire. If he’d been any other man, I would have had him eating out of my palm, but I was the one who’d been tamed.

“I guess we better go get something to eat,” I said.

“Yeah.” He stroked his fingers along my jaw and down my neck. The pleasant heat collecting in my balls condensed into an ache.

“Roy…”

He traced my pulse back up to the soft place behind my ear. Then he expanded his hand until he cupped the back of my head.

I whimpered. “Roy, please…please…please…” My need for him went deeper than flesh and tugged at something inside me I didn’t know existed. Whatever it was crushed my will.

“Please what?”

“Kiss me.” He started to pull away, and I clung to him.

Roy sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“You know why.”

“It’s just a kiss.”

“Nothing is just a kiss when it comes to you.”

“Please.”

Roy put his mouth close to mine. “A kiss.”

“Yes,” I said. “Just one.”

“No more.”

“No, no, no more.”

Roy took the wine bottle from the fold of my arm and put it on the ground. “So you won’t drop it.”

“You must be planning on some kiss.”

Roy put his arm around me, sealing our bodies together. My erection pressed against his thigh.

“You’re blushing,” he said.

“It’s the cold.”

“Are you sure?”

I started to put my hand on his cheek, but he’d barely agreed to the kiss.

“You can touch me. There at least.”

His skin burned my fingertips. I searched his face, but I didn’t know what I was looking for. Even though I knew it was there, right in front of me, I couldn’t see it.

Roy tipped his head, and the ghost of his exhale mixed with mine. “You still haven’t told me why you’re blushing.” He moved just enough to put a pressure against my cock. If he did it again, I would come. “Paris?”

“My kiss.” The words scratched my throat. “You promised. One kiss. And you never break your promises.” I gripped the lapels of his jacket.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I drank his words on a gasp.

“I promise you, I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.”

Closer, the snow landing on his skin became tears on my face.

“A day…A week…”

His lips brushed mine.

“Don’t close your eyes.”

If Roy had ordered my heart to stop, it would have.

“That’s better.”

“My kiss.”

“Your kiss.”

He erased the space between us.

I parted my lips, begging Roy to fill me, but there was only the weight of his mouth on mine, the velvet of his skin, the tiniest bit of silk fed to me on the tip of his tongue.

The contact was brief, but it set fire to my insides, dug into my bones, scattered my thoughts, and crushed me.

Broke me.

Then he stepped away, and I returned to my body, standing on that stretch of sidewalk at the corner of a building near two parked cars.

It was snowing.

And it was so very cold.

The Slaughter House was a hole-in-the-wall café between a pawnshop and a drug store. Chrome framed the windows, and a red awning hung over the door.

A layer of snow covered the three tables out front.

Roy held the door open, and I stepped into a world where the closest thing to ambience was a flickering fluorescent light in the back. The one empty table was missing chairs.

“There’re seats at the counter,” Roy said.

I shrugged off my coat, but there was no place to put it so I draped it over the back of the stool. A strip of duct tape covered a crack on the vinyl cushion.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” A black woman hugged Roy before he could sit down. “Where you been, stranger?”

“Working.”

“You don’t come see me as often as you used to.” She winked at him, and Roy glanced at me.

“Most of the jobs I’ve taken have been on the other side of town.”

“That’s no excuse. You can always visit on the weekends.” She offered me one of her plump hands. “And you are?”

“I’m sorry,” Roy said. “Louise, this is Paris.”

We shook.

“Paris? Uh-huh…now that’s a fancy name. Roy knows this side of town like the back of his hand. Make sure he shows you around. ‘Cause something tells me a pretty boy like you could get into a whole lot’a trouble.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. The last thing I want is trouble.”

To Roy, she said, “Are you gonna have your usual?”

“Uh, sure.” Roy sat beside me.

“What about you, honey?”

“Make mine the same, I guess.”

When she spoke to Roy again, it was just above a whisper, and the bright grin she wore turned subtle. “So have you made any plans for Christmas yet?”

“Not really, no, ma’am.”

“The invitation is still open. And you know, Betty isn’t seeing anyone right now.”

Roy fumbled with the silverware. “Betty is a real nice girl…” He moved the fork to his right, then added the butter knife. “But I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh…” Louise straighten her shoulders. “Do I know her?”

“Uh…actually…actually it’s…” He cleared his throat. He took a breath. He fumbled with the silverware some more. He took another breath, and then his hands fell still.

Roy met her gaze.

“Actually you just met
him
.”

She glanced at me and then back. “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Ohhh—” Louise took out her ticket book, then patted down her pockets. “I, uh…you said your usual, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll go get a pen and write that…” She shook her head at me. “I’ll make sure Jonathan puts extra chili on yours. Maybe it will put some meat on your bones.” She hurried away.

Roy slumped in his seat.

“Did you just come out for the first time to a waitress?”

“I think so.”

Louise went from the cash register to the back counter. She patted down her pockets again and pulled out a pen. Instead of writing anything down, she went over to the man rolling hot dogs around in an iron skillet. He was tall, with black hair, and skin just a shade darker than Roy’s. The man glanced over his shoulder at us.