Chaz was already getting out of the car on his own. He looked at Mikey. “I don’t need your help.”
Mikey raised his hands. “Sorry. I was just trying to be nice.”
Now, standing beside him, Mikey saw that Chaz was a full foot shorter than his own five feet, ten inches. Maybe more. He was wearing a seersucker suit, sans tie, and looked like he would be as comfortable on a veranda sipping lemonade as he would hosting a children’s television program.
“I’m old and I’m small, but I am not feeble. There’s a fine line between politeness and patronization. You remember that.”
Mikey shrugged, not fully comprehending the insinuation. “Whatever. You’re in charge.”
“Yes, I am,” Chaz said, pointing. His lewd grin had returned. “And don’t you forget it, big boy. Now, let’s get you some grub. We’ve got reservations.”
He placed his hand in Mikey’s and they walked across the parking lot toward the restaurant.
Again, Mikey felt reality bending, speculating whether he was really there at all.
* * *
The hostess smiled and welcomed them. She led them to a table and placed their menus across from each other on it. Chaz pulled Mikey’s seat out for him and Mikey sat uncomfortably—more from the antiquated etiquette than anything else. He wouldn’t have been comfortable with faux chivalry, even from an average-sized man. But considering he had halfway convinced himself that he was dreaming, he went with it.
He sat back, taking in his surroundings, never having been to this particular chain. The place was a commercialized mock-up of what a traditional Italian restaurant might look like. There were red and white checked tablecloths, and framed pictures of the pope, Sinatra, and the Colosseum on the walls. All accompanied by multi-colored lights strung along the banisters and molding.
He wondered what George would think of it.
George. Why can’t he be in my dream?... with those beautiful blue eyes and that cute little rear end.
Chaz sat, unfolded his napkin, and tucked it into his collar below the chin. “So, tell me about yourself, Mikey. I mean, I know you’re a mailman—but what does that entail? Must be a tough job with all thosebigpackages,” he said, over-emphasizing the words, reaching for the double entendre but coming up... short.
“No, not really,” Mikey answered, reluctantly yanked from his reverie. “It’s a numbers thing. Knowing odd and even and which side of the street they’re on. It’s not rocket science. You don’t need a degree.”
But Chaz wasn’t listening to him. He was looking around impatiently. “Where is our waitress? I need a drink.”
You and me both. Mikey thought, wondering if he could feel the effects of alcohol while sleeping.
“I want one too. Tell me, Chaz, I’m curious—”
“WAITRESS!” Chaz shouted at a server in the distance. She was with another table, but acknowledged him, mouthingbe right there.
Other people were taking notice of them. If Mikey could have hiddenunderthe table, he would have. And since it might be a dream, he concentrated hard to see if he could justmelt... just pour himself out of his seat and onto the floor... maybe find a drain near and escape to the sewers below.
“It’s homophobia,” Chaz whispered.
“Calm down, grandpa. It’s 2021, not 1970.”
“Ooh. Feisty.”
A young female, barely out of high school, approached their table. “Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Tricia. I will be your server tonight.”
“Why hello, Tricia,” said Chaz, unabashedly saccharine. “We’ll have two vodka martinis to start with. You can tell the bartender all he needs to do is just wave that little vermouth bottle over the glass.”
“No,” Mikey said. “A beer please for me—I don’t drink liquor.”
Chaz looked at him, then shrugged. “Well, alright then. Make thatonevodka martini and a Peroni for my friend here. And some fried mozzarella for an appetizer. You got all that?”
“Yes, sir. I do,” she answered. She wrote everything down, giving Mikey a wink as if they were in on a secret. “And for your entrée?”
“Just bring the drinks, dear. I’ll let you know when we’re ordering.”
“And please forgive him,” Mikey added. “Someone put caffeine in his Metamucil this morning.”
