Call to Love

Chapter 1: The Regular“He’s he-ere!” The words, spoken quietly in Garner’s ear, produced only a minimal response. Without looking up, he murmured, “Mmm?” Clearly, his attention had not been captured, for he was deeply involved in a challenging task: entering a correction into the new cash register the wait staff of the restaurant used. The register was part of the new system that the management of Mario’s had recently purchased, one that promised to make financial reports a breeze. The wait staff had experienced something quite different, finding the various function keys and code sequences arcane and counter-intuitive. They had learned to cope, however; all except Garner, who still viewed the cash register as the bête noire of his working life. He could cope, after a fashion—at least, with regular entries. Corrections, however, were another matter. Just now he’d gotten two error beeps from the machine, which had jangled his nerves, so now his forefinger hesitated over the key he thought might be the correct one, shaking slightly and unwilling to commit to the trial, anticipating another beep. Yet part of him had registered the remark made in his ear, and when there was no response to his non-verbal reply, he added, again without looking up, “Who’s here?” “Your boyfriend, of course!” came the amused rejoinder. That got through. He raised his head. Sharon, his co-worker, was looking at him with a mischievous smirk. He still had not shifted mental gears, however, and there must have been something baleful in his gaze from his attending the cash register, for Sharon’s smirk faded and she shrugged defensively. “Okay—your admirer then.” Garner frowned. He was still confused. Sharon, noticing this, looked past him to the cash register, and made an impatient noise. “Oh, Garner!” she said, pushing him gently but insistently aside. “You and this machine!” Standing in front of it, she surveyed the display, clicking her tongue several times, while he peered over her shoulder, feeling helpless. “I just don’t get it,” he moaned quietly as she took his pad and cleared the fouled entry. His face was hot with minor humiliation, but he was grateful at being saved from the ordeal. “There’s nothing to get!” she said. “Let me see—okay. Now, just watch. You enter this code. You choose from this set of options—” With deft finger movements she entered amounts and actions, describing as she went. Garner watched, nodding hopefully—but was soon lost. And when the machine made a pleasant ding—so different from the error beeps he received—he felt a fresh wave of dislike for the thing. “Voila!” she said, handing him back his pad and the revised bill, and regarding him with one eyebrow raised. She had the casual ease of someone who was not only naturally competent, but well-adjusted and good looking as well. Garner tried not to resent her for that. “Thanks,” he murmured, avoiding her eye as he put the bill into a leather bill holder that had the restaurant’s name embossed in gold on the front. This done, he looked up, and saw Sharon looking at him with tolerant amusement. “It’s not difficult, you know.” She gently tapped his head. “You just have to follow the steps.” Garner flushed, and he clenched his jaw in quiet rebellion. “That’s not how I work,” he said. “I’m intuitive.” Sharon shook her head in mock despair, but then, looking past his shoulder she lifted her hand and pointed discretely past him. “What?” He turned. “Oh!” “Your admirer,” she whispered conspiratorially. Garner’s face warmed again, but he said nothing. He was looking at the solitary figure sitting at table twelve. “Every time,” Sharon continued. “He asks to be put into your section.” “He does? Maybe it’s the area he wants.” “No. When our sections were rotated yesterday and he was put at one of the tables in your old section, he asked to change tables—to be moved into your new section.” Garner stared at his co-worker. “Who told you that?” “Dimitra. He asked to speak to the hostess. Very polite, too.” Sharon shook her head slowly. “Maybe he likes my service.” “Possibly.” She smirked. “And maybe he likes your beautiful blue eyes. He wouldn’t be the only one. I’ve heard more than one girl on the staff say it was a real waste, your being gay.” “Alright,” Garner said, doing his best to be firm. His face was still flushed with embarrassment, but he had his job to do. He looked down at the bill holder in his hand and then at table fifteen, where a couple were starting to look a little restive. Before he could move, however, he felt Sharon’s hand on his shoulder, and looked at her. She was nodding toward table twelve. “Go get him, tiger!” She was grinning and, as he headed off, he still felt the heat in his face. He apologized to the couple at table fifteen as he placed the bill holder on their table. “I’m very sorry, for the wait,” he said, smiling disarmingly. “It’s a new computer system for the restaurant.” The man merely shrugged as he took up the bill holder, but the woman smiled at Garner. These little touches of consideration on his part worked best with female customers. He genuinely enjoyed seeing that the customers had everything they needed to make their dining experience at Mario’s enjoyable, and it was the women who perceived that. He truly believed that if all his customers had been men, he would have been fired long ago. For, however thoughtful and polite he was in serving customers, he was also rather forgetful. Sometimes that caused problems—sufficiently often that Mike, the manager, had more than once been on the verge of letting him go. It was only the excellent reviews of the customers, mostly the women, which made Mike stay his hand. Garner had developed a habit of evaluating his performance when the customers at each table left. Table fifteen tonight—as the woman rose, he drew back her chair in just the right unobtrusive yet casual way that made it solicitous rather than intrusive, and got a querulous look from the husband—it was perhaps a B-, or maybe a C+, but no more. He sighed inwardly as he left the table—and experienced a jolt as he was reminded of table twelve. Garner looked quickly across at the man, and was relieved to see he was still studying his menu, a filled water glass and bread basket in front of him. Deciding to give him a little more time, he turned and, seeing the tall, thin form of Tom, the busboy clearing table fifteen, went to help. * * * * When at last Garner steeled himself to approach table twelve, he saw someone waving at him from beyond it. Automatically, he cringed inwardly, feeling a spasm of irritation. Mario’s was not the sort of restaurant where people behaved in that way. It was upscale, and Garner felt privileged to work there. But when he saw it was his friend Vera, he relaxed. This was typical Vera behavior. She didn’t ever quite get the rules of a situation, but since her actions invariably came from the best of intentions, she was given a kind of immunity. He noticed the other three members of her group were dressed appropriately for Mario’s, if a bit dark, and that Vera’s dress was just the wrong shade of red for the new blonde hair color. But that was Vera. He smiled and nodded. Then he turned back to table twelve. The man was still looking at the menu. So Garner paused, allowing himself the luxury of studying him. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, no tie, and a white shirt, all impeccable. He looked startlingly elegant, more so than the men who were wearing ties. A crimson handkerchief was in his jacket pocket, the only bit of color in the ensemble. It was the exact color of the man’s rather full lips. Their exquisite curves were rendered more beautiful by the setting of the man’s perfectly smooth skin, dark eyes, and raven black hair that glinted with highlights in the restaurant’s subdued illumination. There was just a hint of olive color in the pale complexion, suggesting a Latin ancestry, and his hands were finely formed. Garner had noticed before how the man’s nails looked manicured, which seemed to fit. And, indeed, there was something exquisite in virtually every part of him. While slight of build, there was nothing delicate about him. And, when on a previous occasion Garner had watched him walk, when he was leaving the restaurant, Garner had been struck by what was a quiet economy of motion. The effect, then as now, was one of profound calm. This Garner found very attractive. But it was more than that, too. There was also the ineffable sense that, in some way, here was someone important, but not because of some office or position. Rather it was just that he was in some way just more there than other people. It didn’t make rational sense, but there it was; Garner still struggled with understanding it. Watching him now, as he sat looking at the menu, Garner’s gaze was drawn to the sensuous curves of his lips. He wondered what it would be like to kiss them. But just then he was brought back by the feeling that someone was watching him. Turning his head, he saw Mike, the manager, at the front of the restaurant. Garner started slightly. He took a deep breath, gathered his resolution and was about to head to table twelve, when he felt someone squeeze his arm. Turning, he saw it was Vera. “What do you think?” she said in a quiet but excited voice. “Of what?” “My—” she jerked her head toward her table, “friends.” “Oh.” Garner looked at them, and shrugged. To him they now had a slightly ratty quality, but he said nothing. Vera looked disappointed. “They’re a coven—” “Sorry,” Garner said, interrupting her. “The manager. He doesn’t like me talking to customers like this.” “Oh. Okay. I’m just on my way to the little girl’s room.” She left, and Garner went resolutely to table twelve. The man looked up at him, raising his dark eyebrows. “Good evening, sir!” Garner said. “It’s pleasant to see you back again. May I get you something to start? A drink, perhaps?” It was pretty much rote, which was good, because even as he spoke, Garner felt confusion begin to clog his brain—due to his close proximity to the man. The man gave him a brief smile. “Yes, your house red, please, a glass.” “Very good, sir.” Garner turned away, aware his face was warm again. Talking to the man just seemed to have that effect on him. And that look—those raised eyebrows—what was that all about? He thought there had been puzzlement in it; no interest as far as he could see. Still, even the man’s gaze resting on him for those few seconds had been intoxicating, like an intimate touch. As he went to the back, the image of the man, his dark eyes looking up at him, remained in Garner’s head. As he tried to recover his poise, Sharon’s word—admirer—struck him as odd. The guy had been polite, yes. But there was also a barrier too, as though—it struck him at last. The man had actually seemed guarded! Garner shook his head. He didn’t like to think he had elicited that response. He thought back to the man’s previous visits. He hadn’t noticed that guardedness before, but perhaps that was because he hadn’t been told that the man was interested. Given his own rather intense, disturbing reaction to him thus far, Garner wasn’t sure he wanted the man to be interested. “Yes?” Garner blinked. He was at the service bar, and Bill, the bartender, was glaring at him, having just knocked on the top of the bar. “Oh, right. Sorry! A glass of house red, please.” Bill frowned slightly as he turned away and Garner groaned inwardly in mortification. Don’t do this! he told himself sternly. Focus! Focus! With the glass on his tray, he returned to table twelve—and then almost spilled it as he set it down, having suddenly remembered he hadn’t delivered the next course to another table. Recovering, he straightened and hesitated for a second, looking at the man with a slight, expectant smile. The man glanced up at him and nodded thanks. Garner raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the closed menu. “Yes,” said the man, looking momentarily as if he too had been distracted. “I’ll have the fettuccine alfredo, and the ginger squash soup to start.” “Very good, sir.” Garner picked up the menu and turned away. But his heart was thumping with the news that the man had ordered Garner’s own favorite item from the menu, what he invariably ordered during his dinner break. After placing the order, Garner delivered the desserts to table ten, an apology hovering on his lips. But the diners didn’t seem to notice, and as he left, Garner comforted himself with the knowledge that at least he never got an order wrong, or placed an item in front of the wrong customer. It was one of his more terrifying nightmares to have a customer, after he set a dish down in front of them, lean back and say, “What’s this? I didn’t order this!” After another visit to the cash register, which he managed okay this time, Garner went to take orders from Vera’s group. He was on top of things in his section now—for the moment, anyway—and he felt a wash of relief. Garner loved that feeling. Quite apart from not wanting to lose his job, he just enjoyed looking after people; every diner in his section was unique and important to him. And it was this quality in his nature that made him a good enough waiter that, despite occasional memory lapses, he managed to get tips sufficient to allow him to pay his bills, and even with some extra, which he spent on his single indulgence: books. Having placed the order, Garner looked at his pad, and saw he had another entry to make in the hated cash register. Fortunately, Sharon was there. After a questioning look and a nod from him, she took Garner’s pad and made the entry for him, asking how it was going with his admirer. He shrugged, frowning, but when she had given him back his pad, she looked at him expectantly. “Well?” “I don’t know.” After a pause, he added, “What makes you think the guy’s even gay?” Sharon stopped her own entry in the cash register to turn and stare at him. Then she snorted and resumed. “Honey, if they had membership cards—they would have taken yours away long ago.” Garner smiled sheepishly. He knew what Sharon was referring to: his so-called membership in the gay community. He always found the reference vaguely unsettling. No doubt he was not membership material for any group, but he preferred it that way. But still, whenever she said this, about his being an unconventional gay man, he always felt like he’d done something wrong. The few times in his life he’d been invited to join a group, he had backed away, suffering a sudden sense of claustrophobia. Groups just didn’t work for him. On the other hand, he did want to have a relationship, and hoped he was boyfriend material. But this desire wasn’t that strong. Mostly, he just felt comfortable and content with his life as it was. This reminded him of Vera who, like him, seemed to be a square peg in a world of round holes, but who, unlike him, desperately wanted to belong to some group. And that made him remember the orders for table fourteen.