Empty Nests (5 page)

Gabe was still impressed. The people responsible for the recent fuck-ups were making well into six figures and had master’s degrees. He didn’t know how much the Tech Support guys were making, but considering how often UC employees were at the front of budget-cut protests, he’d be willing to guess not nearly as much.

“So…. How’d the date from purgatory go?”

Gabe rolled with the blatant subject change, even if the pain of that date was still fresh. “Not my worst date ever but certainly nowhere near the top ten. It was with my friend’s second ex-wife’s second cousin.”

James was kind enough to cringe.

“I mean, he was pretty, but dear God, he was dumb. I don’t consider myself an intellectual snob, but I think that man was the reason blond jokes were invented.”

“Could not have been worse than my Saturday night.”

“Try me.”

“Well, to start with, my son set it up. Not the first time he’s done this. He found a guy. Set up a date for me. Should have said no and just grounded him, but the profile seemed reasonable. Said he liked music, wanted to take me to a gig. I like music, so I figure ‘how bad can it be?’”

It was Gabe’s turn to cringe. “Famous last words.”

“Indeed. He seemed normal enough, but I do not consider death metal music. It took three days for the ringing in my ears to go away.”

“I think you win on the crappy date front. Did you at least get dinner out of it?”

“Not a good one.”

Gabe quickly looked around for Tamyra. She had a habit of popping up just when he was starting to relax or enjoy himself, and he was enjoying talking with James, who so far seemed to be intelligent, pleasant, nice looking without being overprimped pretty, and not angling for anything involving money, as far as he could tell. Basically the type of person he had not had a conversation with in a long time.

“What kind of music do you like, if not death metal?”

“I’m more into acoustic, for one. Folk, world, a little bluegrass, I have to confess. Just about anything they play down at the Freight.”

“Where?”

“The Freight? Freight and Salvage?”

Gabe looked blank. He’d never heard of it.

“It’s been around since the ’60s.”

Gabe shrugged.

“How long have you lived in the Bay Area?”

“Born and raised.”

“Okay, no, that will not stand.” James waved a finger at him. “Next Tuesday, 8:00 p.m. Open-mic night. Always good acts. I can get an extra ticket, and you are going to have your musical horizons expanded.”

For a moment Gabe wondered if he’d just been asked on a date. It didn’t really feel like it. Not that he thought he would have said no to a date. James seemed nice enough—maybe not his usual type, possibly even falling into Frank’s definition of nice—but again, it didn’t feel like a date request, just an offer to go to a concert with a friend. It was a nice feeling.

Gabe smiled and tried not to laugh.

“The last time someone offered to expand my horizons, wax and chocolate sauce were involved.” James blushed. It was adorable. Gabe pulled out his phone. “Usually Tamyra doesn’t let me make my own appointments, but I’m feeling naughty. Eight o’clock, someplace called the Freight and Salvage, and I’ll add horizon expansion.”

G
ABE
CHECKED
the time. It was nearly an hour to Berkeley in good traffic, which on the 880 was never a given. He’d been looking forward to the evening and did not want to be late. The idea of sitting in a theater with someone normal, listening to acoustic music, had settled into his mind as possibly the best idea ever. Certainly infinitely better than most of his meetings and far better than listening to a pretty airhead talk about reality TV. He even had plans to put his phone on silent.

He was reaching for his jacket when Tamyra came in, dropping a bunch of files on his desk.

“Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not a date.” They’d been arguing about it since she’d seen the event in his calendar.

“Then why are you wearing your first-date shirt?”

Gabe looked at the comfortable dark blue shirt he was wearing. “I do not have a first-date shirt.”

“You have two, that one and the dark red one, which you wear on first dates.”

“It’s not a date. It’s an open-mic night. He wants to expand my musical horizons.”

“Yeah, that’s the only thing he wants to expand.”

Gabe’s jaw dropped. Tamyra was sarcastic, snarky, and generally ruled his life with an iron fist, but she was rarely flat-out crude. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I saw the way he was looking you over in that lecture hall. If he invites you back to his place for a cup of coffee, don’t be surprised.”

“It’s not a date, and even it was, it would be the first ‘coffee’ I’ve gotten in a while.”

“I won’t wait up, then.”

Gabe headed for the door with plans to make a grand exit before a thought pulled him up short. “Do I have a second date shirt?”

“If you do, I’ve never seen it.”

J
AMES
PULLED
on his sweater since the fog was already rolling in thick over the bay.

“You are not wearing that sweater on a date.” Dylan had been commenting on every aspect of his wardrobe as he got ready.

“It’s cold outside, and it’s not a date.”

“No, you’re just taking a guy you’ve had coffee with a few times to the place you have described as your one indulgence, and by extension, your sanity.”

“It’s just open-mic night, and it’s not a date.” James didn’t ask people on dates. He had surprised himself to no end blurting out the offer. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he’d been thinking at the time. He just knew that a seemingly nice person, who happened to be attractive, was acting like they cared about James’s musical tastes, and had bent over backward trying to fix a piece of equipment they would never have to use again. People like that didn’t stumble into his life often and usually not for very long.

“Is he hot?”

He decided not to grace Dylan’s question with an answer. Yes, Gabe was hot, but it did not matter in the slightest, because it wasn’t a date and there would be no activities where the hotness of people had anything to do with it. And it wasn’t as if James could get someone that hot anyway, so it really didn’t matter.

“I’m leaving now. Do your homework, don’t burn the place down, don’t have girls over, and it’s not a date.”

G
ABE
STOOD
in front of the theater waiting for James while watching an eclectic mix of people enter. There seemed to be a mix of quite young and late-middle-aged. Some had dreadlocks and hemp bracelets while others looked like part of the khaki-and-Prius set. It was ten to eight when he finally saw James hop off a bus.

“Hey, wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

“I’d never miss this, but I do live at the whim of AC Transit.”

Gabe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a bus that wasn’t showing him around a factory. He followed James into the large, airy lobby that looked brand-new. “I thought you said this place has been around since the ’60s?”

“That was their old space, eighty folding chairs in a brick building, one bathroom, and no parking. It took them thirty years to scrape up the money for this.” James gestured at the recessed lighting and fresh carpet. “Come on, let’s get some seats.”

As the show started, Gabe could honestly say he’d never given two thoughts to bluegrass music, except for some possible associations with
Deliverance
, but the kid on the fiddle who was part of the first act had the fastest fingers Gabe had ever seen. They were practically a blur. Next up were multicultural drummers, followed by a young woman singing folk tunes that sounded three times older than she was. In between numbers James would lean close to whisper some comment about other acts he’d seen or share some general knowledge of the genre.

As intermission neared, Gabe started wondering if maybe he was on a date. James’s whispered breath in his ear was quite pleasant, but he couldn’t tell for sure. He’d never been good with these moments. He could negotiate million-dollar deals in three languages, but he couldn’t tell if he was actually on a date, if a date was intended, or if he’d simply made a friend who was horrified at his musical ignorance.

The houselights went up, and people started milling toward the coffee bar at the back of the theatre. “So, are you enjoying it?” James asked.

“Yeah, some of those acts are pretty impressive.”

“Good. Coffee?”

Gabe told himself the offer was for actual coffee and not
coffee.
“Love some.”

James collected their coffees and found a quiet corner. “So…. Tamyra spent the afternoon telling me I must be going on a date because according to her, this is my first-date shirt.” Gabe was sure that sounded smooth and humorous in his head. A nervous chuckle spilled out even as the awkwardness of the whole situation skyrocketed. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. “Not that I would mind if this was a date or not. I’m having a good time.”

James flushed as he fiddled with the little straw in his coffee.

“Dylan kept saying the same thing. Not the shirt bit, but the date bit. Of course most of my dates are pretty disastrous, and I think I’m enjoying myself a little too much.”

“I know what you mean.” Gabe scrambled for something that would get the evening back on steady ground. “How about if this is a not-date? Like an un-birthday.”

“Not-date. I like that.”

Gabe relaxed as the awkwardness faded. The lights blinked, and there was a little chime. Everyone made for their seats.

The first kid out—he looked about fifteen—had his arms wrapped around a
guitarra huapanguera
that dwarfed him. But his fingers danced across the strings in the same
son huasteco
rhythms Gabe remembered coming from his grandmother’s small radio when they would visit her in the Central Valley. She would place it in the window and turn it facing the garden so she could listen while picking peppers and tomatoes in the heat. Gabe would sit in the shade under the window, trying to catch a breeze with a glass of cold lemon-mint tea sweating in his hands.

The boy finished and took a small bow. Gabe clapped hard, suddenly craving cold mint tea despite the chill outside. He must have had an odd look on his face because James leaned in close.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

“I’m fine. Just a bit of sense memory.”

James touched his arm for a second before turning back to the stage.

For the rest of the show, Gabe’s mind was three decades and a hundred miles away, deep in childhood summers. He managed to applaud the last act as the houselights came up, and the audience started filing out.

The fog had come in thick and damp, putting a sheen in the air.

“Well, what did you think?” asked James, breaking Gabe from his reverie.

“I liked it. You can count my musical horizons as having been expanded.”

“You should come back some other time and see the pros.”

“I’d like that.” James averted his eyes. He looked happy but a bit bashful too. “I don’t suppose you know anywhere around here that serves mint tea?” Gabe asked.

“Mint tea? Um…. There are some Moroccan places around here, but I’m not sure if they’re open at this hour. Why?”

“Had a sudden craving.” Gabe checked the time. The surrounding storefronts were mostly dark and the city was slowing down. “It is late, though.”

“Yeah, I have to catch my bus.”

“I can give you a lift.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’d be a very crappy not-date if I didn’t. Just point the way.”

J
AMES
DIRECTED
them down from the first rolling hills of Berkeley into the flatlands of Albany and across San Pablo Avenue until they got to a stand of apartments. They weren’t exactly project housing, but not the kind of place someone would live if they had an option for better.

“Here’s me.”

“You know, I had a nice time tonight.”

“Me too.”

The silence stretched. Gabe was hoping for an invite up for coffee. He’d spent the night taking a closer look at James. He had a nice smile that caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle in a particularly sweet way. His hair was a little shaggy but in an attractive instead of unkempt way. A nice body. And there was something pleasant about him that gave Gabe a desire to prolong the evening. Frank’s definition of “nice” floated through his head.

“I better get going. Dylan’s going to send out the dogs if I’m out too late.”

Gabe swallowed his disappointment, though he had been the one protesting all afternoon it wasn’t a date. “Yeah, I’ve got a long drive back. Can I get your number, though? Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“I thought you had my number?”

“I’ve got the number of a guy who slurps over the phone and is bad at taking messages.” James smiled, his eyes crinkling. He pulled a pen from a pocket and wrote a number on the back of the program from the evening. “Old-school. I like it.”

“Old-school is sort of me all over.” James hopped out of the car. “Thank you for the lift. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Absolutely.”

Gabe waited until James was past the security gate of his building. It wasn’t that it seemed to be a particularly bad neighborhood, just not exactly a great one.

“I’
M
HOME
,”
James called as he dumped his keys in the bowl by the door.

“With company?” Dylan shouted from his room, sounding a little too eager.

“No.” James leaned against the doorframe in Dylan’s room. A pile of socks kicked into one corner reminded him he needed to get more laundry powder.

“How’d it go?”

“It was nice. A lot of good acts.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “I mean the date.”

“It wasn’t a date. It was a not-date. Like an un-birthday.”