Dinner at Fiorello’s (7 page)

“I get that,” Henry said, a little breathless. He glanced down at Kade’s crotch area, and it was obvious, even beneath the thick cotton, Kade was hard. What was going on?

Kade walked ahead of him. “Get yourself comfortable.” Kade gestured toward the overstuffed couch. Henry sat on its edge, unsure about just how comfortable Kade wanted him to get. Should he take off his clothes? No, no, he couldn’t do that. What if he was misreading things? What if his eyes had deceived him and that hard-on he thought he saw was nothing more than the bunching of fabric, a wishful-thinking kind of thing?

“You want a drink? Moms won’t miss anything from the bar. She hardly ever drinks anyway.”

Henry looked over at Kade, standing next to a walnut cabinet that doubled as a bar. Kade’s back was to him, and the towel had slipped a bit to reveal Kade’s tan line and just the tiniest bit of Kade’s ass crack. Henry thought, somewhat giddy, that the view should be in the dictionary, next to the word tantalizing. Henry licked his lips and tried to allow himself to ease back into the couch.
Play it cool.
“Sure, uh, how about a vodka?”

“Neat?” Kade asked over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m brave enough for that. You got cranberry or orange juice?”

“Yeah, in the fridge.”

“Could you do a splash of each?”

“Always with the recipes.” Kade splashed some Grey Goose into a tumbler and headed toward the kitchen to get, Henry supposed, the juice and some ice. Was this a seduction? Henry wondered. And if it was, why did he feel so weird about it? Wasn’t this exactly what he wanted?

As Kade moved into the kitchen, the towel fell off, landing in a heap on the floor. Henry closed his eyes for a moment, the sight of Kade’s high white ass burned on the inside of his eyelids. Henry opened his eyes again as his breath started coming quicker, quicker still when Kade merely stepped over the towel and continued on, naked.

He returned to Henry, holding his drink. His dick, completely hard, bobbed in front of him as he walked.

Henry was at a loss for words. No, he was at a loss for thought. He understood the old phrase “struck dumb.”

Kade grinned and set the drink down on the coffee table. He stood in front of Henry, dick jutting out before him. “Thirsty? Or maybe you’re hungry?”

Was this a dream? Would Henry wake up in just a minute in his bedroom, spurting come into his boxers? He felt as though he should pinch himself. If he did, though, he knew he’d feel reality.

He wondered why his own dick hadn’t responded in kind. More than excited, he simply felt bewildered and… well, maybe a little used.

Kade put his hands on his hips and thrust them forward so that his cock was only inches from Henry’s face. Henry could see a little drop of precome had formed at its slit. His own dick, almost as if it had a mind of its own, at last responded, jerking to life.

“Hungry?” Kade asked, voice hoarse.

Henry had no words. He undid his shorts, pulled them down, and kicked them away. He yanked his T-shirt off. Kade shoved the coffee table back, spilling Henry’s drink, to give Henry room to kneel.

Henry dropped to his knees, and his mind went somewhere else, taken over by an onslaught of lust. He reached out gingerly and wrapped his hand around Kade’s cock. It jerked in his hand, and Henry almost expected a quick eruption of come at only his touch. He didn’t want that.

He had other things in mind.

He stroked his own cock almost absentmindedly as he leaned forward, thrusting his tongue out to lave a long line of spit on the underside of Kade’s cock. Kade moaned. Henry reached up to grab Kade’s hips and pull him closer. He swallowed down the cock, almost to Kade’s wheat-colored pubes. He didn’t gag this time. He began moving up and down while stroking himself at the same time.

Kade grunted and grabbed ahold of Henry’s head, holding it still while he thrust into his mouth. Henry shut his eyes and pumped his own cock, matching the tempo of Kade’s thrusting.

It took only a minute, maybe two, before Henry was rewarded with a mouthful of come. Greedy, he gulped it down.

He sucked every drop from Kade’s deflating cock, then pulled away to look up at his friend and smile.

But Kade was not looking at him. He was gazing toward the kitchen and frowning.

“That what you wanted?” Henry asked. He looked down to see his own tan thighs, dripping with his seed.

When had he come?

Kade didn’t answer. He hurried from the room and headed in the direction of what Henry knew to be his bedroom. In seconds, he was back. He had pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and was holding a washcloth out in front of him. His expression, for lack of a better word, was pained. Or maybe the more apt word would be disgusted….

“Here, clean yourself up.” He handed the rag to Henry. He still refused to look at him.

Henry felt dirty. Shame rose up. He wanted to ask what he had done wrong but was afraid of what the answer would be.

Hands shaking, Henry wiped the semen from his thighs, balls, and pubic hair. He handed it back to Kade, who didn’t take it but shook his head.

“Just throw it on the floor,” he snapped.

Embarrassment and guilt caused heat to rise to Henry’s cheeks. He pulled his shorts up and sat back down on the couch. Nervously, he picked up what was left of his drink and took a sip. Kade hurried away, and Henry jumped at the slam of his bedroom door.

For a long while, Henry sat on the couch, waiting for Kade to return. After ten minutes with no Kade, Henry heard the sound of music blasting from Kade’s room. It was some of the ancient shit Kade adored, Led Zeppelin, maybe.

Henry tried to swallow more of the drink Kade had made for him, hoping the alcohol would help stop the trembling in his limbs, but his throat wasn’t cooperating, refusing to let the liquid go down. Frustrated, he set the glass back on the coffee table and got up.

He went and stood outside Kade’s door. Other than the loud strains of “Stairway to Heaven” as it reached its crescendo, the room was silent. There was no noise that might indicate Kade was moving around inside.

Henry tapped lightly on the door and, when he got no response, rapped louder. “Kade?” he asked. He shouted louder when his friend didn’t answer.

Finally, Kade’s voice, sounding broken—was he crying?—said simply, “I think it’s time for you to go home now.”

“What? Why? You invited me over, man.”

“Just go. I don’t feel so good.”

Henry stood outside the door, wondering what else he could say. He couldn’t really argue. He’d been asked to leave and told his host was ill. Henry had been raised too politely to not simply comply.

He turned to go, then called over his shoulder, “Call me when you feel better, okay?”

Kade didn’t answer, and Henry was sure it was because they were back in the silent zone. Henry waited a few minutes, hoping against hope that Kade would relent and open his door, but another song came on and Kade turned the volume up even more.

Dejected, Henry moved back to the living room, where he slid into his flip-flops and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He took his drink out to the kitchen and poured the contents down the drain, then rinsed the glass out and set it upside down on the counter. He took a tea towel from the refrigerator handle and went back into the living room, where he wiped away the spilled liquor and the damp ring his glass had left on the coffee table.

Last, he picked up the cloth he’d used to clean up his come and took it into the hallway, where he knew the stacking washer and dryer were located in a closet. He tossed the towel into the washing machine.

Finally, he headed toward the door.

He stepped out, feeling confused and depressed, and started down the stairs.

And then he stopped.

Another emotion took over—rage.

He’d been used. He thought of Kade as someone he’d grown up with and someone who, in his own way, he loved, the sex stuff aside. Kade had no right to use him like some kind of receptacle for his come and then just turn on him.

It was wrong.

And Henry would not stand for it.

He marched back up the stairs. He didn’t give himself time to think but went directly to Kade’s bedroom door. He tried the handle. It figured—Kade had locked the door. Henry kicked it.

“Listen, I am not something to be used and tossed aside. I am—or was—your friend. I don’t know what your problem is, but the next time you need somebody to suck you off, call somebody who gives a shit. Because I don’t—not anymore. You showed your true colors, man, and they’re ugly.

“I won’t say ‘don’t bother to call’ because I know you won’t.” Henry kicked the door again, surprised at how good it felt. “Fucker,” he whispered as he strode away.

He hurried out of the apartment, out of the building, and maybe, just maybe, out of the life of his best friend.

As he got into the courtyard, his emotions shifted again, and he wondered if he had done the wrong thing. He choked back a sob and angrily forced down his sorrow, taking deep breaths until he was calm, or at least relatively so. He wondered if he should go back in and apologize.

No. He would be damned. Even if Kade couldn’t handle the whole gay thing, and Henry supposed that most likely was his problem, he didn’t know how he could help.

He had his own life to get on track. All he could do was hope Kade would see the error of his ways before he caused anybody else any more pain.

Henry walked slowly back to his house on Sheridan Road, cars and bicyclists passing him, unaware of his inner turmoil.

When he got inside, Maxine was seated at the kitchen table, a sweating glass of iced tea before her. She looked exhausted, and her very curls seemed to droop. She was barefoot and had pulled out one of the other kitchen chairs to rest her feet on.

“You look like you just lost your best friend!” she exclaimed, concern framing her words.

Henry didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to tell her how exactly right she was. Instead, he pulled out a chair and wordlessly sat down at the table with her. She shoved her tea toward him, and Henry took a gulp, tasting the mint she always put in when she brewed it.

“What’s the matter, honey? You can tell Maxine.”

Henry wasn’t ready. First of all, he’d need to come out to Maxine, which he was fairly certain wouldn’t be a problem, but the time just didn’t seem right, not when he was feeling so shaken.

Fortunately or not, he had another issue at the ready he could bring up with her. “You know where I was today?”

She grinned. “Robbing a bank? Selling your wares down in the city?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Getting a mani-pedi.”

“No. You seem to have me confused with Mom. At least on the last part.”

“Where, then?”

“Applying for a job.”

Maxine pulled her iced tea back toward her and took a sip. She set the glass down and cocked her head. “Oh? I thought you were gonna work at your dad’s office this summer.”

Henry sighed. “You and everybody else. It seems like no one really consulted me about that. Ever hear of Fiorello’s?”

Maxine nodded eagerly. “In Rogers Park? It’s so good! Yummy Italian. I love their pepper and eggs sandwiches! But wait a minute. What’s that got to do with you applyin’ for a job?”

Henry simply stared at her until the answer dawned on her.

“You wanna work there? Why?” Maxine barked out a nervous laugh that conflicted with her overall reaction, which seemed genuinely puzzled.

Henry got up from the table and poured himself his own tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator. He stood at the counter and drank it down without stopping, facing away from Maxine.

He turned back to her. “You like what you do?”

“What? Picking up after you guys?” Maxine snorted. “Yeah, it’s just what I always dreamed of. Scrubbin’ toilets, dustin’, running the sweeper, cookin’ for people who don’t look twice at what I make. It’s a dream come true, honey.” Maxine rolled her eyes.

Henry sat back down at the table. “So you’re not happy here?”

Maxine grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I was just bein’ sarcastic. You know me.” She shrugged. “When I was a little girl, I thought I might be a nurse. But then my teen years came, and with them the boys and the partyin’. I never got the grades I needed to get into nursing school. My own fault.” She took a sip of tea. In her eye there was a faraway look. “My folks wouldn’t have had the money anyway, even if I did have the grades.

“So yeah, I like it here. I wouldn’t have been here so long if I didn’t. Believe it or not, there are quite a few jobs out there for those of us who don’t wanna be rich and don’t mind workin’ long hours.” She laughed, but there was little mirth in it. She leaned forward and briefly laid her hand on Henry’s cheek. “I’ve come to care a lot about you guys, especially you. You’re kind of like my own family.”

They sat for a while in silence. Henry realized—and he was ashamed of this—that he really didn’t know much about what happened with Maxine when she left them and went home every night. He knew she was married and had a little girl, but if he had to come up with their names, he’d be hard pressed.

Maxine put her feet on the floor and leaned forward. “I gotta be getting on my way pretty soon.” As though she had read his mind, she said, “My hubby’s got a softball game tonight, and then we’re goin’ out for pizza.”

“Sounds fun,” Henry said. He wanted to ask Maxine more about her life—and he would make a point to later—but before she headed out for the evening, he really wanted her counsel. In spite of being the least-educated person in the house, she was the one Henry trusted most for her common-sense advice.

“You know that job I told you about at Fiorello’s?”

Maxine nodded.

“Well, I can have it if I want it.” Because he knew she would ask, Henry hurried to explain what the position entailed and that this was
not
a summer job. He’d be learning the restaurant business from the ground up. He thought it was a great opportunity for some practical experience, which he could augment perhaps later with culinary school.

“So, wait a minute.” Maxine scratched her head. “This means you won’t be going to NYU this fall? Henry, are you sure that’s wise?”