The Imperfection of Swans (6 page)

Screw it. He’d rather freeze. He was only a few blocks from his destination anyway.

On his way, he passed between the parks. Children were screeching in excited joy from the ice-skating rink in Boston Common.

No more noise. For the love of sanity, No. More. Noise.

Picking up his pace, Casper closed the last two blocks in record speed. And then he was there, throwing open the door of Tatte Bakery and stepping inside.

Miracles of miracles. There was only one other patron in the place. Typically there was a line around the pastry counter. He let out a sigh of relief.

He loved this bakery. So warm. Bright. Clean. Some of the most beautiful pastries in the city. Already the sensation that he was losing his sanity began to dissipate.

“So you coming in to eat or just to stand creepily in our doorway?”

Casper looked toward the voice and smiled. “Hi, Charu. No. I’m definitely here to eat.”

She picked up a small macaroon and held it toward him with steel tongs. “The usual?”

He left his place at the door and met her from the other side of the counter. “Goodness, no. Screw the calories. Today I don’t care.” He scanned the limitless bounty spread over the gray-and-white marble. “That! That’s the winner!” He pointed at a personal, yet sizable, tart with half of a golden baked pear, complete with its stem, on top.

Charu smiled wryly at him. “Really? I figured if you were going to splurge, you’d have gone with one of your own creations.”

“I’ve already acted like too much of an ass today. Let’s not add being pretentious to the descriptors. Would you warm it up in one of the ovens for a few minutes, though?”

“Hmm, so, not pretentious, but persnickety?”

“I prefer the term particular.”

She laughed. “Oh, sweetie. I know, I know.” After popping the tart into an oven, Charu met Casper at the register. “Coffee?”

“Did you catch that it’s a calories-don’t-exist day? I want a chai. A big one.” Just being in Tatte made him feel more like himself. “Man, it’s good to be in here.”

Charu nodded as she fiddled with the milk steamer. “You’ve not been in for weeks, unless you came during one of my off shifts.”

“No. No time. Being the head pastry chef at a fancy hotel isn’t all the glamour you’ve been led to believe.”

“Of that I am certain. Still, don’t forget your best friend who hasn’t clawed her way up that ladder quite yet.” She looked over her shoulder toward the clattering of pans and whispered, “Of course, you could lower yourself back down. I can figure out a way to get Thomas fired. You could have your old job back.”

“As much as that sounds wonderful, no. I need the larger paycheck, unfortunately. Besides, where would Thomas go?”

Charu offered an exaggerated shrug. “Who cares? As long as it’s not here.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one in a bitchy mood today.”

She waved him off. “Seriously, he won’t take no for an answer. He keeps inviting me to his church, telling me it’s gay friendly. As if it doesn’t matter that I’m a Buddhist.”

“A nonpracticing one.”

She tilted her chin. “Depends on the day.”

Casper leaned closer. “And is there something you’ve been neglecting to tell me? Are you a lesbian now?”

She cocked an eyebrow playfully at him. “You wish, honey.”

He giggled. “That doesn’t even make sense, Charu.”

“Oh, shut up.”

OVER AN
hour and a half and two more pastries later, Casper was on the Orange Line headed to South End. Maybe due to the pastries, or maybe it was Charu, who was one of his favorite people he’d ever worked with, but whatever the reason, he felt back to normal. Happy, cheerful, and hopeful. Much better.

He also felt horny.

How long since he’d gotten laid? It had been on his last day off, so, two weeks… too long. And he hadn’t heard from Brent since.

Maybe call Brent again?

No.

No. Tonight, he wouldn’t submit to simple ease. Tonight was a full-tart kind of night, not a tiny macaroon.

The Eagle was just what he needed.

Good food, a good friend, some great sex, and he’d be ready to dive back into another long stint at work. Actually it didn’t even have to be great sex. Sex of any flavor would suffice. And honestly, while preferable, even if that didn’t work out, just time away from the constant clicking, clacking, and whistling for the evening was all that was truly needed.

Casper had been to the Eagle in other places, mainly New York and Denver, and neither was really in the heart of things. Well, the one in NYC was in Chelsea, surrounded by all things queer, but the one in Denver was way out in the ghetto. That particular bar wasn’t going to show up in Times Square or Denver’s Larimer Street anytime soon. The Boston location always shocked him. Right on Tremont, next to an endless supply of fancy restaurants. Directly across the street from the Boston Center for the Arts, of all places. Granted, it wasn’t quite as gritty and dirty as some of the other Eagles, but being located in the heart of such refinery made what grit it did have even more exciting.

Casper bustled along Tremont, the night getting ever colder. Less than a block away from the Eagle, Casper noticed an ivy-covered brownstone with its windows papered. It struck him as strange. It was a beautiful building, but with its windows blacked out, it had an abandoned feel. And that didn’t belong in this neighborhood at all. The place had to be for sale. Probably already sold. No way would a location like that stay on the market for long. He paused just long enough to dream. That was the reason for the endless string of multiple roommates for his entire adult life. The reason he worked billion-hour weeks to claw his way up Boston’s culinary world. He wasn’t insane enough to think for a second that his dream would take shape in one of the historic areas of the city, much less here, but it was a nice fantasy, albeit brief.

LESS THAN
a minute in the Eagle and Casper turned and left. Barely six in the evening. Saturday or not, you don’t go to a gay bar before ten. Period. He hadn’t been thinking. What could promise to be a dirty evening would quickly give way to depressing and sad, hanging out in a bar with three other people. Three really old other people. The ageist thought made him feel bad. But he was only thirty-three. He wanted to wait to be with dirty old men until he was one. Besides, at least he wasn’t yelling at them as they sat on their barstools. That was a behavior improvement, considering how his afternoon of freedom had started.

How to kill time for a while without waiting in the cold, which was now adding a light snow flurry to the mix…. He glanced around. People were milling about despite the weather. There was The Butcher Shop, a trendy little restaurant a couple of blocks away. They had a killer charcuterie. The thought of more food sounded horrid, though something that wasn’t based around sugar and carbs would probably be a good idea.

His gaze traveled across the street. The Boston Center for the Performing Arts. Casper sighed in longing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the theater. And he shouldn’t. That was money he had no business spending.

Still. He’d been working his ass off. Living in a homicide-inducing environment. Maybe he was due.

It was a Saturday evening. Chances were slim to nil. He’d just let fate decide. Not waiting for a crosswalk, he jogged across the street and made his way to the box office.

There was exactly one ticket left for the entire evening. Casper didn’t even ask the name of the play. You don’t question fate.

His seat was further proof of fate. One seat left for the entire evening, and it was dead center of the third row. Perfection. To top it off, he sat between a gorgeous giant of African descent and a pretty blond boy with too much mascara. They were both with dates, but who cared? What had started out shitty was turning into a rather remarkably peaceful evening. Who knew, one of the couples might be looking for a third later that evening. Who was Casper to say no if fate so provided?

Casper finally looked at the program he held in his hands. The play was
Mothers and Sons
, written by Terrence McNally. It showed a woman on the bridge in Public Park, the trees red in fall splendor around her. It looked lovely. But that title…. He could almost hear his mother’s voice. Maybe one of the couples would want to duck out early for a threesome.

BY THE
time the play was over, sex was the last thing on Casper’s mind. The play had been beautiful, but sad. Bringing up the AIDS crisis of the eighties and diving full force into the struggles some families had accepting their homosexual children, it hit a little too close to home.

While Casper’s own mother wasn’t quite as drastic as the character in the play, she and his father were definitely products of their environment. And the Focus on the Family mantras in Colorado Springs ran deep to their hearts. He was even more relieved he’d not requested time off for Christmas. Going home sounded worse than annoying roommates.

The night had gone from frigid to downright bitter. Even so, Casper wasn’t ready to go home. And it was only eight thirty. Still too early for the bars to be in full swing, but surely the crowd at the Eagle had picked up somewhat. Maybe there’d be someone there who could get him back in the mood.

A few feet from the doorway marked with a huge stone eagle, Casper’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He nearly ignored it. Probably one of his roommates. Although it might be Charu finishing up her shift. Hanging out with her would be the perfect way to end the evening.

He pulled out his cell and tapped the message.

Brent.

Hey! Long time. A group of us are just leaving a work xmas party. Going out for drinks. Wanna join?

He wished it had been Charu. But still. If Brent was texting, that probably meant sex was back on the table.

He glanced again at the Eagle. Dammit. Why pretend that ease wasn’t going to win?

Sure. Where you going?

A few moments passed as Casper shivered in the cold before his phone buzzed again.

Not sure yet, somewhere in Beacon Hill. You won’t even have to go far. Text when you’re dressed and I’ll let ya know where we end up.

K. Soon.

Great. Back home. Casper looked toward the Eagle once more. While endless possibilities could be fun, Brent was a sure thing, and being with a group that was in the Christmas spirit could be good for him.

CASPER

THE JEWEL
was the most luxurious and expensive hotel in Beacon Hill. It also housed Savor, a five-star restaurant and bar. Incidentally, Savor had been voted best desserts in Boston for the past three years, a fact that Casper relished.

“You missing work so much that you’re here on your days off now?”

The valet opened the door, and Casper shook his head as he stepped through. “Not hardly, Robert, and
days
off implies plural. If that’s the case, I don’t know what job you’re talking about.”

Before taking the elevator to Jewel, which took up the entire thirty-sixth floor at the top of the hotel, Casper stopped off at the restroom.

Of course Brent had waited until ten minutes before, after Casper was already back in Beacon Hill, to text where the group had decided to go. And he knew there was no coincidence. He had half a mind to pull a no-show, hop back on the Orange Line, and see what the Eagle had to offer.

The thought just made him tired.

Casper stood in front of the walls of mirrors in the men’s room. He didn’t look as haggard as he felt. He leaned in, angling his face. Another splurge. However, he didn’t feel the least bit of guilt about these either. The week-old frameless glasses were worth it. The floating oval lenses brought to mind Steve Jobs, but more modern, and the tortoiseshell temples took them back to retro. Satisfied, he inspected the rest of his appearance. He smoothed out his slim-cut shirt and rolled up the sleeves over his elbows, exposing the lower half of the tattoo sleeve that covered his right arm. Raking his fingers through his brown hair, he wished he had more product. Instead of sweeping back, the thick mop leaned to one side. Whatever—it wasn’t like Brent would care. Or even notice.

Actually this was better than going to the bar. Casper was never the prettiest or most appealing man in the room. He wasn’t unattractive, but neither did he stand out. At least here, with Brent, he didn’t run the chance of getting passed over.

HE SPOTTED
them easily as soon as he stepped into Savor, a table of five over by the window. Prime location. Someone had name-dropped.

The model-like girl stiffened behind the hostess stand when she saw Casper and then let loose a too-white, too-toothy smile.

He managed to keep an annoyed expression off his face. She was always so nervous around him that it put him on edge. He had no idea why. The girl towered over him; she could squish him if she needed to. “Relax, Amber. I’m the head
pastry
chef, not the head chef or the owner.” He motioned to where he was headed, even though he was certain she knew, and walked past her. “However, if the desserts aren’t up to par, heads will roll….” If nothing else, it was good to make a surprise visit to see if his team was consistent when he wasn’t there. Although he was willing to bet Amber would alert them to his presence. As he neared the table, he glanced back. Sure enough, the leggy redhead was nowhere to be seen.