Roman nodded. “I will try. Have a good night, Sherry.”
Once inside his car, his sanctuary, he took a moment to relax his shoulders and stretch his neck, trying to let go of the tension that had gathered as a result of the altercation. As always, he spent a few moments second-guessing his actions and wondering whether the man might try and enact some retribution. The insults were nothing new, but they were always disappointing. Even with his financial advantages, navigating the world as a black man was exhausting.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out to find a text from Ezra.
I found a cheese more disgusting than bleu. It’s called casu martzu, which translates to “putrid cheese,” and it’s made of literal maggots.
Ezra had included a picture of the cheese in question, as well as a barfing emoji. Roman smiled at what was clearly Ezra’s attempt to gross him out.
Adding it to tonight’s menu, Roman replied.
Noooooooo!!!was Ezra’s hasty reply.I was JUST JOKING. Roman, please…
Included with it were three prayer hands emojis. Roman found the all-caps touch adorable and nearly as enticing as Ezra begging via text.
Don’t worry, cutie,he replied, so that he might not worry Ezra too much.I’d never do that to you.
Ezra’s response was the buck-toothed emoji with glasses and a sweet little,thank you.
Roman stared at his own text and the nickname he’d spontaneously given to Ezra.Cutie.Well, it certainly fit. Roman started up his car, looking forward to getting back home to his roommate.
* * *
Ezra washard at work in the kitchen making sure the appetizers were arranged equidistant from each other on their platters. He didn’t like for his own food items to touch and held the same principle when serving others. Roman arranged bottles for cocktails and relayed to him the incident that happened at The Bleachers.
“What a rude thing to say to your bartender.” Ezra paused his work to glance over at him with concern. “And he wouldn’t apologize?”
“No, he would not. I had to throw him out, which he was not happy about.” Roman debated telling Ezra what the man had said to him and figured he may as well be honest.
“Oh my goodness,” Ezra exclaimed, wide-eyed and with his mouth gaping. “Roman, that’s terrible.” Ezra set aside his tongs and came over to give him a good, strong hug. Having grown accustomed over the years to being the giver of hugs, it was a nice change to be on the receiving end. Roman dipped his head to brush his nose against the part in Ezra’s hair, inhaling his sweet, clean scent; he was so tempted to kiss him there. But, he didn’t.
“I’m so mad at that man for being mean to you,” Ezra said, still fuming. “Does it happen very often where customers are rude like that?”
“Not too often, but probably more so at The Bleachers because it’s a bar and whenever alcohol is involved…” Roman knew it was more than that, though. It was likely his position of authority that had really bent that man out of shape, the fact that he’d even had the power to kick him out of the bar in the first place.
“I hope I never see that man in my life, but if I do, I will certainly give him the business,” Ezra said staunchly. Roman smiled at Ezra’s pledge and wondered just what Ezra giving someone the business might look like. Terrifying, no doubt.
Ezra went to his room soon after to change into his Saints jersey, and Roman noticed immediately when he returned that it was his own name and number. “You chose mine,” he said, feeling ridiculously happy about it.
“Yes, but I already promised Jay that I would switch jerseys during halftime to keep things fair.”
He is too good for this world,Roman thought to himself, and while his friends were nice people, they could also be loud and obnoxious, and he knew that Ezra was nervous about meeting them all at once. Plus, there was a very important message he needed to convey to his guests, many of whom were thirsty, opportunistic men who might try to scarf Ezra up like a tasty morsel.
“Ezra, why don’t you hang out by the food as our guests arrive?” Roman said as he was still fussing over the arrangement of the platters.
Ezra’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you afraid your football friends will have sticky fingers?”
Roman smiled. “They do have big appetites, and I wouldn’t want for us to run out of food.”
The doorbell rang and Roman spent the next few minutes greeting his friends, many of whom he hadn’t seen all summer, due to his busy work schedule and his desire to be at home with Ezra more often. To all of them, including their significant others, he said, “Welcome to my home. Please, do not hit on my roommate.”
Roman knew that it was dragon-like behavior and yet, he couldn’t help himself. Ezra was his… whatever he was. Meanwhile, Ezra was busy doing calculations on the white board, the reason for which, Roman had no clue. When everyone had gathered and the game was about to begin, Ezra stood on a small step stool in the kitchen (the only way he could reach the upper cabinets) and made this announcement:
“Hello, football friends, my name is Ezra Powell, and I am Roman’s live-in housekeeper. I’ve made a chart so that the food is distributed fairly. Here you’ll see the name of the appetizer.” He motioned to the left-hand side of the board where he’d listed all of their offerings. “And here you’ll see the number that has been divided evenly amongst the guests. This is because you have big appetites, and we don’t want anyone to go hungry.”
Ezra gave Roman a big thumbs-up, which made his heart stumble a little. And while their guests plated their food, referring back to the white board for guidance, Roman was filled with an immense gratitude for all the ways, large and small, that Ezra took care of him.
Ezra lasted a total of thirty minutes into the game before he donned his noise-cancelling headphones, but he seemed to enjoy the party overall, and though he said very little to anyone outside of Roman and Jay, he was friendly to all those who approached him.
