Charting New Waters Read online

  “Ah. The same age as Jesus! I'm thirty-eight.”

  “That's shocking. Really, you look so young,” he said as if he were truly surprised I wasn't hobbling around on a cane.

  “What are you looking at?” I asked, straightening my hair with my fingers. He was picking me apart with his eyes.

  “Looking for gray hairs. I don't see any.”

  “Futtitinni,” I said with a chuckle, sitting back in my chair. We went on like this for some time until his sister Lina came to get him. She seemed surprised we were sitting there telling dirty jokes over coffee, as if she thought we'd no longer be speaking. She underestimated how important her brother was to me. I stood when she neared the table, as did Joseph, both of us adhering to our Mediterranean cultures.

  “Stay at my home tonight,” I insisted as I hugged him goodbye. I'd already asked him once and he'd skirted the answer.

  With a great sigh and a damned tight hug, nearly lifting me off my feet, he said, “yea, okay. I'll stay.” He was so solid and naturally muscled, he made me feel secure in a primitive way. I loved it.

  Predictably, his sister looked worried by this. I tried to reassure her. “Miss Lina, Joseph will be safe with me. I would never break his trust. Don't worry.” She bit her lower lip and looked to me and then Joseph, who was calmer than I'd ever seen him. She must have seen it too, and nodded at last. “Okay, fine. Come on, Joe, you've got to take me back home and pack yourself an overnight bag.”

  I stood by the door and watched them until the far-off parking lot swallowed them up. I was a man, and I loved sex, sure. But I'd also had far too little excitement in my life recently, and I planned to remedy this. I went back to an empty table and began making notes in my phone of all the things Joseph and I could do together that did not involve being naked. I was amazed at just how excited I got over planning a trip to the opera, flipping through my phone to check times and dates. Rigoletto was playing. Joseph would probably make fun of me for choosing an Italian opera, but Richmond didn't boast a large choice, therefore Rigoletto it would be.

  I looked up as something crashed behind the counter. “What have you broken, Dreema?” I called worriedly. How could I plan all these things when I had an eighteen-year-old idiot working for me?

  “Just a few glasses!” she called back as she lazily walked to the broom closet.

  “Aha, yes, only a few glasses,” I muttered, shaking my head as I watched her go. I'd have to find someone to take over the management like my manager at Palermo's.

  Chapter 5

  Joseph

  When Vito messaged me later that evening, I was just finishing up packing my overnight essentials.

  Ajutu! Staff are idiots. Need a manager. Any ideas?

  I wondered why he suddenly needed a manager. I curled up on the sofa and thought about it. Sure, I knew people, but I wasn't sure what kind of experience he was looking for, the salary, anything!

  I know people. When do you need them, what are you paying? I have to tell them something.

  I waited a few minutes, impatiently fidgeting. I'd been ready to leave the house but couldn't conduct this kind of thing while driving.

  I need them as soon as possible. I will pay them 50k, it is the most I can do. Is it ok?

  It was more than okay. Unfortunately, the best guy I knew for the job was a guy he didn't like.

  Sorry but Jean-Paul (jerk cousin) is your best bet. He's a tyrant, won't let anyone get away with anything. Manages a nice place in The Fan with an iron fist, but he's not making that much. He'll come if you want. You pay better ;-)

  Lucky for the jerk cousin, then. I'm still here at Luna. Bring him with you. I'll wait.

  Vito was a little demanding, but I'd known he was strong-minded, used to getting what he wanted. I loved that about him. Nothing more of a turn-off than a weak man.

  Let me call him!!

  I did. Jean-Paul was working, of course, and liked the idea of working for Vito about as much as he liked a paper cut on his eyeball, but he was my cousin and I needed him and he was only making thirty thousand at the place where he was now. “Damn it. I hate having to be nice to people I don't like,” he muttered before going up to his boss and lying his ass off about a family emergency. I waited patiently until he'd finished explaining his clumsy mother had fallen down the stairs. He was a callous liar, always saying something horrific had happened to his poor mother, who was unaware she was known as the most accident-prone woman in Richmond.

  “You don't even know him!” I started right back up again as soon as I heard him leaving the restaurant. “You might like him. You're more alike than you think.”

  “I shudder. Whatever, as long as he pays me, I'll do whatever he wants.” He laughed. “Sounds kinds bitchy, doesn't it?”

  “Hands off my Sicilian,” I snapped, though I laughed.

  “He was never in any danger, I assure you. Now where am I meeting you guys?”

  Jean-Paul and I pulled up at about the same time. I looked him over and hoped my trust in him was not misplaced. If he did anything to mess up Vito's place, I had a feeling I'd find him floating in the James River. “Come on, then.”

  “Does he know about you?” he asked as we walked. I was glad he asked, because I'd forgotten all about my T.

  “He doesn't want to know. I tried to tell him, but he said he wanted our relationship to be based on love for each other as people. I just hope he doesn't regret that.”

  “Oh, I'm sure he will,” Jean-Paul said casually. “He'll probably go nuts, fire me, dragging me down with you, but hey, what is family for, huh?”

  I hadn't thought of that. “I'm sorry, Jean. I'll do my best to break it to him gently.”

  “There's no goddamned way to break that gently. Why don't you just get the rest of the surgery?”

  “It's not like a snip and a tuck or something. I'd have to have skin grafts, a chunk of muscle taken out of my forearm, a hysterectomy... that's a lot of surgery.” I didn't think anyone understood just how much I'd have to go through when they asked why I hadn't done it, like I was just lazy.

  “Wow. I always felt sorry for myself being gay, like why couldn't I just be normal, but damn, at least I have my dick.” He sounded sincere, but his reminder that I was a dickless man was not something I wanted to hear.

  “Whatever. Okay, here's the place. Luna. If you say one thing about something being Italian, he really might kill you. He is Sicilian, and everything in here is Sicilian. Do you understand me?” I stopped and shook his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “Jean?”

  “Complicated bullshit. How sensitive is this guy? Fuck!”

  “Do you like it when people call you Syrian or Egyptian?” I countered smugly.

  This always set him off. “Why the hell would anyone think I was Egyptian? They speak different Arabic and they just look different.” He snorted. “Someone asked me if I was a refugee the other day. Old lady, asking me like she wanted to take me home with her.”

  I laughed and chucked him on the shoulder. “See? Not funny, is it?”

  “Okay fine! Sicilian. Let's go. Damn.”

  Vito saw us through the huge plate glass windows and went to unlock the door. It really was a beautiful place with shiny, gleaming display counters filled with scrumptious cakes and cookies. The floors were tiled in a terracotta marble and the tables and chairs were wrought iron and wood with tiny vases with single roses in them. It was the kind of place you could sit in all day, unless you were Vito, who looked more than ready to escape.

  “Bon junti,” he said, moving to the side to let us pass him, then closing the door behind us. “Mr. Jean-Paul, are you well?” He looked critically over my cousin like he wanted to know more if he were mentally stable than in high spirits.

  “Long day, but yea, fine. So, what do you want done in here?” he asked casually, taking a seat and looking around.

  “I need a manager. I will not be free to devote all day to being here. I have two idiot employees. They break things, they ar
e messy. I would like you to manage Luna and the clumsy girls or else fire them and find more coordinated choices.”

  “Why won't you be free?” Jean-Paul asked, still looking around and nodding. “I see what you mean, they didn't do a good job mopping tonight.”

  “Yes, as I said. They are inefficient. Do what you will with them. I am going to be enjoying my life. Cultural endeavors, sleeping in late, perhaps knitting. I've no idea.” Vito sat across from him and I sat beside Vito, taking his hand possessively in mine.

  “Must be nice,” Jean-Paul murmured gruffly. God, what did men see in him? He was a step away from a neanderthal. I grumbled, scooting closer to Vito.

  “Yes, I wish to spend as much time with Joseph as possible.”

  Oh, that was a surprise! “What? You're doing this for me?” Jean-Paul looked surprised too, his brown eyes darting between us.

  “Of course. We agreed to know each other. I can't do that while Dreema is breaking all my glasses.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Mr Jean-Paul, can you start tomorrow? I will meet you here in the morning and show you around, answer any questions you may have. My pastry chef will make his own lists of what he requires. You will most likely never see him, as he lets himself in and out before dawn. Let's say nine tomorrow morning? I will come in on your days off.” He held out his large hand and waited for Jean-Paul to shake on it.

  “Yea, fine. And um, thank you, Vito.”

  We all stood, relief all round. Jean-Paul was going to make more money, Vito would have his free time, and my cousin and my lover has gotten through a civil conversation, so I was pleased as Punch. We left my car in the parking lot and took Vito's and Jean-Paul went on his way with a halfhearted wave.

  “I forgot to ask you about your own work. Perhaps you aren't available to spend your days with me,” Vito said as he drove along Broad Street.

  “I work from home. Don't worry, I brought my laptop.” While I was going through all my changes, I realized I couldn't hold a normal job in an office any longer, with my body and face changing all the time. At first, I'd been scared to death my career would be over, and it did die a small death at first, but eventually I'd started up my own wine distribution company. I had suppliers around the world from lesser-known wine regions who I bought cases from and sold to local vintners and specialty bistros. It wasn't large-scale, but I was making more than I ever had working for someone else. My mother was pleased, of course, as Lebanese don't do well taking direction from others. We need our space and a free hand to do what we like. Not very successful nine-to-five'ers.

  “What sort of work do you do? Everything has revolved around me and my work. I apologize. I want us to be equal in all things,” he said as we drove further out into the suburbs.

  I explained and he was more excited than I'd thought he'd be, real enthusiasm brimming as he asked his questions.

  “Could you make an arrangement to sell Sicilian wines? I have a contact who supplies my wine. I'm sure he would love to expand.”

  I liked how we were able to help one another like this. Our work was different, but linked in a way to be mutually beneficial. Having things in common certainly gave us plenty to talk about and brought us closer together. We discussed how to branch into Sicilian wines all the way to his house.

  Vito's house was huge. He lived in one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in the city. It was a two-storey sprawling white stucco with a perfectly manicured lawn, strategically-placed spotlights illuminating it in the night. “Oh, your home is really beautiful,” I breathed as I got out and slung my overnight bag over my shoulder.

  “Thank you. It's nicer than my uncle's, which pleases me very much.” He didn't even try to hide his dimple when he smiled then. “Come on, let's relax. I'm worn out.”

  I followed him in, looking around without gawking. The house was decorated simply with a nice, heavy sofa set in the living room, thick, expensive matching drapes throughout, a few large oriental rugs, but not a lot of nick-knacks. He led me to the staircase which curved up and around to a sort of balcony, and down a hall to the master bedroom. “Do you want your own room or to sleep with me?” he asked.

  I really didn't know. On the one hand, I would love to wake beside him every morning, but on the other, I knew the chances of him accidentally feeling me up in his sleep were good. I was here to build intimacy with him, not hide down the hall, but there was a real risk he'd find out. I didn't even know how I would deal with my period when it came; how I'd hide it. Suddenly, I felt depressed. Who was I fooling? I wasn't a man or a woman; I was a thing trying to convince itself and its...lover...that it was a man. Having a hairy chest wasn't good enough. My deep voice wasn't good enough. Even my driver's license stating I was a male was worthless the moment Vito either reached down the front of my pants or found a tampon.

  I stood there dithering, unsure what to do. He made up my mind for me, because that's the kind of man he was. “Come.” He took my arm and led me to the next room down. He opened the door and deep burgundy walls with creamy trim greeted me. A large bed with a forest green spread embroidered with gold thread sat on one side of the room. There was an en suite bathroom. A TV and sofa. A large closet and large windows that would be filled with sunshine tomorrow morning. “Stay here. For your privacy. Come to me in my room whenever you want, and leave it whenever you want.” He kissed my cheek and said, “I'll leave you to settle. Find me in the kitchen after.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and snuggled his head into my shoulder.

  I kissed his neck and gave him a squeeze. “Thank you, Vito.” He was better to me than I deserved. I could have just told him the first night and avoided all this secrecy and even though he'd said he didn't want to know, sometimes a person just didn't understand what they were asking. I was still nervous, but I unpacked my overnight bag and changed into a pair of navy lounge pants and a tee shirt and met him downstairs.

  Chapter 6

  Vito

  I had our week all planned out. We would go to Maymont Park tomorrow afternoon for a picnic and then the opera that night. The next night, we would go to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts for a special program of art viewing, wine and dancing. I hoped he'd be willing to dance with me, because I was dying to dance with him, and not in a club. I liked real dancing; Samba, Tango, Salsa, that sort of thing, and should there be a waltz, all the better. I was a true gentleman at heart.

  As I was mulling over my plans, Joseph came down. I loved how fit he was. I wished I could see his whole body as he walked toward me, only getting an outline of his chest and look at his muscular arms. Best of all was when he hugged me like a big teddy bear, wrapping that firm body around me. I stood from the kitchen table and offered him a glass of wine. Sicilian, of course. He took a seat across from me, though his bare foot tangled with mine beneath the table. I'd also changed into something more comfortable. As we played footsie, I noticed his feet weren't overly large like mine, but I didn't care. It was merely an observation.

  “The wine's excellent, Vito. I will definitely try to make an arrangement with your supplier. Occasionally, I do promos of new wines at smaller shops throughout the city. I'm sure they would love to host a tasting.” He swirled his glass and sniffed again, smiling brightly, that little gap between his teeth visible.

  “I'm so glad,” I beamed. “Joseph, you have quite a good body. I hope I don't embarrass you to say so directly... I've never been able to gain weight no matter what I do. Do you play sports? Work out often?” If I could gain one solitary muscle, I'd be pleased.

  “No, I've always been kind of bulky. When I was young, I had to be very careful not to gain weight, always on a diet. Whenever I exercised, it turned into muscle right away, without much effort. “I only box.”

  The thought of him damaging that beautiful face worried me more than it ought. “No! Oh, do be careful, Joseph, I should hate you to break your fine nose.” I rubbed my fingers over my own and blushed. I hated this enormous monstrosity on my face. I thought Lebanese people
also generally had large noses, but Joseph's was so perfectly straight, not too wide, no bump... It was the most perfect nose I'd ever seen, and I always noticed noses, self-conscious of my own as I was.

  He sat back and chuckled. “I'm a good boxer.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, though I was glad he was good at it, I suppose.

  “I've never broken anything. Never got knocked out. Don't worry.”

  “So is it for exercise? Not for sport?” I'd heard lots of people had become interested in boxing for fitness, punching the air instead of each other.

  He pursed his full lips and then turned away with a blush. “No, I'm hitting them, they're just not hitting me.”

  “You're abusing them, then!” I said with a laugh.

  “Yea, I'm a sadist.” He laughed. “They're trying to hit me. Oh, sometimes they do, usually to my side or stomach. Rarely I get clipped on the chin, but I've never been punched head-on in the face. Not while boxing, anyway.” He ran his fingers through his blonde hair, mussing it attractively and I wanted nothing more than to watch him box, seeing the muscles in his arms flex, his body sweat.

  “Not while boxing? I can't imagine anyone ever having reason to strike you at all! Who would do that?” I asked worriedly. Had he been attacked for being gay?

  “A very stupid man. It was an accident, actually. We were moving some heavy boxes and his hand slipped. It flew back and punched me right in the mouth. My lip split, I was bleeding, and I blacked out for a second, but I stayed on my feet. I just stared at him, my mind blank. I couldn't even believe that had happened. I wanted to knock him out, but that wouldn't be too manly, would it? Punch a guy for an accident? But I looked fucked up for about a week.”

  He finished off his glass and I poured him another. “I'd like to see you box someday. Would you mind?” I asked as I refilled my own glass.