tables and dragging wooden chairs dwindled to a halt as the pianist continued. It seemed odd, out of place, forcing them all to listen. The player sat at the black piano, his jacket off. His white shirt under black suspenders glowed beneath the sole stage light. Wasn’t a captain going to stop him? Where was Lenny?
Brian glanced to his right. Across an empty table, Lee stood looking at him. Their eyes met for a long moment. They said nothing, then turned back to watch the pianist, whose intensity increased, the melody rising in emotion. His back rose and fell as he played, hunched over the keys.
The entire room grew silent except for the flowing music. People stood, dirty glasses in hand, piles of napkins at their feet, tubs of slopped wine settling to stillness. Some sat momentarily in chairs. Others whispered lightly.
The pianist finished and sat for a small moment in silence.
Waiters burst into applause. The pianist stood. His eyes seemed watery in the distance. He took a slight bow, then hopped off the stage and immediately went back to work picking up ashtrays. A murmuring swept through the room as everyone resumed their duties.
“What’s his name?” Brian asked Andrew.
“I don’t know,” he said as he stuffed another napkin into a laundry bag. “But I do know his boyfriend died last month.”
Andrew turned away, picked up a lipstick-stained wineglass, and poured the dregs into a white plastic tub. Brian stood, unable to respond, unable to say anything. He watched the droplets splash the sides, then looked back to the abandoned piano.
“C’mon.” Lee patted his shoulder. “Help me with this.”
He kicked his feet at the metal hinges beneath the table, its bare surface an ugly brown. Setting it on its side, he held it firmly upright and led Brian as they wheeled it out to the loading dock, hand over hand over hand.
13 “One for Dogs of the Desert, ” Lee said with a bit of embarrassment to the sullen Black girl behind the afternoon glare of the glass cashier booth. She took his seven dollars. A ticket ca-chunked up and she pushed it out with two quarters. The warmth of the theater lobby felt good after the December chill.
Even though he’d received a few cards in the mail (one from his parents, another from his parent’s cat), he’d forgotten to tell anyone that it was his birthday, so instead of hinting about a party or gifts from anyone, he simply went to a movie.
As Lee floated up the escalators through the three levels of the Cineplex Odeon lobby, he recognized a man’s face under the eerie blue lights. He wasn’t sure if he’d worked a party with him or seen him on television. Sometimes both could happen with the same guy. He imagined a tuxedo placed over the man’s clothes, placed on like a paper doll.
Yes, the face looked familiar. The guy turned to glance at Lee, seeming to recognize him as well, but he turned away as the escalator scooted him to the next floor.
Lee considered, then hesitated. Absolutely the stupidest opening line , “Haven’t we met?” The guy would probably laugh in his face.
Nevertheless, he followed him to the counter to get some candy. The guy turned casually, and as their eyes met, said, “I know you ...”
The bright fluorescent light behind him, and the blue light in front of him, gave a shadowed cast to his face. He looked thinner than the last time Lee had seen him.
“Right,” Lee said. “Um, catering?”
“No, I quit that.”
“May I help you?” a young Latino man called from behind the counter. Lee turned a moment, then the two ordered, clumsily chatting between getting their change and holding their popcorn.
“Um, do you know Todd?” the man asked.
“Who lives uptown?” Lee realized he didn’t know Todd’s last name.
“Yes.”
“It was at his party,” he said.
“Oh yeah,” Lee remembered. “I’m Lee.”
“Chet Sinclair.” They shook hands. His fingers were thin.
“How are
Brian glanced to his right. Across an empty table, Lee stood looking at him. Their eyes met for a long moment. They said nothing, then turned back to watch the pianist, whose intensity increased, the melody rising in emotion. His back rose and fell as he played, hunched over the keys.
The entire room grew silent except for the flowing music. People stood, dirty glasses in hand, piles of napkins at their feet, tubs of slopped wine settling to stillness. Some sat momentarily in chairs. Others whispered lightly.
The pianist finished and sat for a small moment in silence.
Waiters burst into applause. The pianist stood. His eyes seemed watery in the distance. He took a slight bow, then hopped off the stage and immediately went back to work picking up ashtrays. A murmuring swept through the room as everyone resumed their duties.
“What’s his name?” Brian asked Andrew.
“I don’t know,” he said as he stuffed another napkin into a laundry bag. “But I do know his boyfriend died last month.”
Andrew turned away, picked up a lipstick-stained wineglass, and poured the dregs into a white plastic tub. Brian stood, unable to respond, unable to say anything. He watched the droplets splash the sides, then looked back to the abandoned piano.
“C’mon.” Lee patted his shoulder. “Help me with this.”
He kicked his feet at the metal hinges beneath the table, its bare surface an ugly brown. Setting it on its side, he held it firmly upright and led Brian as they wheeled it out to the loading dock, hand over hand over hand.
13 “One for Dogs of the Desert, ” Lee said with a bit of embarrassment to the sullen Black girl behind the afternoon glare of the glass cashier booth. She took his seven dollars. A ticket ca-chunked up and she pushed it out with two quarters. The warmth of the theater lobby felt good after the December chill.
Even though he’d received a few cards in the mail (one from his parents, another from his parent’s cat), he’d forgotten to tell anyone that it was his birthday, so instead of hinting about a party or gifts from anyone, he simply went to a movie.
As Lee floated up the escalators through the three levels of the Cineplex Odeon lobby, he recognized a man’s face under the eerie blue lights. He wasn’t sure if he’d worked a party with him or seen him on television. Sometimes both could happen with the same guy. He imagined a tuxedo placed over the man’s clothes, placed on like a paper doll.
Yes, the face looked familiar. The guy turned to glance at Lee, seeming to recognize him as well, but he turned away as the escalator scooted him to the next floor.
Lee considered, then hesitated. Absolutely the stupidest opening line , “Haven’t we met?” The guy would probably laugh in his face.
Nevertheless, he followed him to the counter to get some candy. The guy turned casually, and as their eyes met, said, “I know you ...”
The bright fluorescent light behind him, and the blue light in front of him, gave a shadowed cast to his face. He looked thinner than the last time Lee had seen him.
“Right,” Lee said. “Um, catering?”
“No, I quit that.”
“May I help you?” a young Latino man called from behind the counter. Lee turned a moment, then the two ordered, clumsily chatting between getting their change and holding their popcorn.
“Um, do you know Todd?” the man asked.
“Who lives uptown?” Lee realized he didn’t know Todd’s last name.
“Yes.”
“It was at his party,” he said.
“Oh yeah,” Lee remembered. “I’m Lee.”
“Chet Sinclair.” They shook hands. His fingers were thin.
“How are
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