“He’s my business associate. I’m opening a restaurant this week. In The Circle.”
“How exciting for you. So you and yourassociate”—he said the word like it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth—“are here shopping for the menu?”
“Exactly.”
“Please forgive my ignorance. I have not been in the United States long and I am still growing—how do you say—accustomed?”
“You said it perfectly. What is it you do, Fabio?”
“I am an executive assistant... for Madame Cozzini at the Italian embassy.”
“Wow. Sounds fancy.”
Fabio waved his hand. “Not really. But I do love being here in America.”
“Are youfamiliarwith The Circle?” George asked, seeking to confirm Fabio’s orientation. The man had to be gay. No straight man on earth would use the wordlover. No straight men he knew, anyway. But southern European men were notoriously difficult to interpret—gregarious and touchy-feely, often leading to mistaken intentions with menandwomen outside their culture. George’s intuition was telling him that this man was not only gay but hitting on him, and he was surprised to find that he was flattered. Fabio was hot, in a distinguished stranger-in-a-strange-land kind of way. Perhaps that was what he needed to get back in the game, as May, Mikey, and now Zac was suggesting, someone uniquely un-American, so different as to not be reminded of the past.
“You mean the homosexuals?” he asked.
“Yeah.” George chuckled. “That’s what I mean.”
“I’m quite comfortable with the homosexuals.”
I bet you are.
The man was a hot piece. Somewhat aloof—which George chalked up to the cultural difference. But physically, he looked fine in his tight chinos and those eyes were dark pools of pure... Sardinia.
“I’m having a soft opening of my restaurant on Wednesday. Would you like to be my guest? I’ll be busy, but maybe we could have a drink after when things simmer down. “
Fabio smiled broadly. “I would love to be your guest, George.”
“It’s not strictly Italian. We serve a lot of Greek too. My ancestry is Greek.”
“Geórgios.”
“Yes. I am Geórgios.”
“How do I find your place of business?”
George reached into his shirt pocket, produced a business card, and handed it to him.
Fabio held it up reading, “David’s. Ah! A splendid name for a restaurant. Perhaps you need a statue of Michelangelo’sDavidthere—something beautiful for the people to see?”
George loved fine art, but the thought of a naked statue in a dining room struck him as tacky.
“Perhaps,” he said, with no intention. But hearing Mikey’s namesake mentioned made him curious as to what Mikey might think of the idea.
Who the hell would want to eat carbonara with some guy’s junk on display?
George grinned at the musing.
“Well, I’ve kept you from your work long enough.”
“No worries. It was a pleasure meeting you, Fabio. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“For certain,” he said, holding his hand to his heart and bowing his head slightly as he backed away. “I look forward to it, Geórgios.”
Chapter 10
