why they had chosen that for their particular dessert, which was simply following the
others lead in the order- perhaps it was selective memory keeping the recollection of
which had ordered first a mystery. The dish really didn’t fit either of them- Tseng found
the dark pudding too heavy, and Vincent absolutely abhorred whipped topping on
anything. Still, despite their prejudice towards their final course, they ate
non-discriminately, each of them ingesting all of their unfavored parts of the meal that
there was to ingest, simply because the other was doing it.
So it was not much of a surprise that they finished at the exact same time, and it was in
fact a tremendous relief to their waiter, Dennis Colin. Dennis was never sure when the
right time to deliver the check to the party was, risking being too pushy or not nearly
attentive enough to matter which side of the time line spectrum he chose. Did you wait
until everyone was done their food, or just the majority? Perhaps you delivered it at the
same time as the dessert, so they could pick it up at their convenience? That, of course,
risked ruining whatever sweet tasting delicacy he had just delivered with the bitter
realization that the consumers were about to pay for something they had already used,
and would never be able to as much as look at again.
This time, however, it could not have been any clearer. The two dangerous looking men-
clearly business associates, their long stares and close leans probably hiding some secret
business discussions- had both placed their spoons on the table and pushed their dishes
away at the exact same time, and with a satisfied smile Dennis plucked their bill from his
waiter apron and promptly made his way over to their table, hovering by the side, himself
in plain sight- but more importantly the bill was. He stood, waiting for one of the men to
call for it.
“I’ll take care of that.”
Dennis froze, a deer in headlights of a truck with more wheels than a junkyard. Both men
had spoken at the same time, though in very different tones. The one man, clearly
Wutain, had spoken with an almost bored detachment, as if the statement was common
place for him. The tall, pale man, who’s ancestry Dennis couldn’t hope to place, had
spoken with an almost playful curiosity- probably testing how his associate would
respond to the relatively demasculating process of having someone else pay his way.
“You paid last time, Tseng,” the pale man said, leaning back in his chair and studying the
man Dennis now knew as Tseng through eyes that looked so bloodshot they seemed red.
“I’d be happy to pick it up.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Tseng said, “you know very well, Vincent, your company is worth far
more than any dinner could cost. Let me take it take care of it for you.”
“Please, I would consider it a privilege,” Vincent responded quickly, almost before Tseng
had finished. Tseng responded just as quickly, if not faster.
“And I consider it a duty,” he said, “that I would be very grateful for you to bestow upon
me.”
The subtle wording was not lost on Dennis, a long time observer of check face offs. He
caught loud and clear the ever changing themes in their sentences, the transition of the
concept of payment from a favor to a preferable activity. He continued to stand their,
bouncing on his heels, glancing back and forth between the men- unwilling to stare at
one longer, and give the other the impression that Dennis had a personal opinion of who
would be better equipped to front the money. Tseng caught the waiter’s eye.
“Please, I just received a pay raise today- that’s actually the reason for this meal. I would
love to put the first reception of my increased wages into our celebration,” he said, his
voice surprisingly sharp sounding. Dennis moved as if to hand him the check, but was
stopped by a black gloved hand that landed gently but firmly on his shoulder.
“Not only do I guarantee I tip better than my thrifty friend here,” Vincent added, shooting
Tseng a look that could be addressing the mild joke or the ever-more-apparently
facetious term ‘friend’, “but I believe I am the only one sitting at this table who would
feel under a personal obligation to reduce your arm to a bleeding stump if that bill goes
anywhere near the other side of the table.”
Dennis’ eyes widened at the completely blatant threat, hardly veiled by the soft and
casual words it had been posed in. The check hit the table in front of Vincent even as
Dennis backed up, nodding quickly and forcing a grin onto his face. He didn’t dare look
at Tseng out of the corner of his eye, but he imagined the Wutain man shaking his head
in a strange mix of bemusement and exasperation.
Even Vincent kept his eyes on the small piece of paper, trying to force down the laughing
smile he knew would split his face if he met the eyes of his lover. When he had himself
under control, he looked up, just in time to see Tseng’s eyes light up in sudden
inspiration.
***
The oak door that lead to Vincent’s self styled mansion could resist several kicks from a
well trained officer of the law, but it had nothing on the two entertwined bodies as they
slammed into it- Vincent’s trench coat covered back, Tseng’s energetic motion forward.
It burst forward on its hinges, and the two stumbled inside, arms wrapped around one
another like dancers at a high school prom. Raven black hair intertwined over pale skin,
bright red lips met the same facial feature of a deathly pale complexion. Breath that
didn’t quicken over mile long runs was suddenly hoarse, ragged, inches from panting and
just a moment past gasping.
Something seemed to possess Tseng, to drive his hands and his lips. He cradled Vincent’s
head to him like the head of an infant, laying on him kiss after kiss that no mother could
hope to rival. Lost in the skilled lips of his partner, Vincent dully heard the crinkle of
what might have paper, might have been a creaking floorboard, might have been the
sound of his ribs as his heart pounded against him. His eyes opened for just a moment
and traveled around to find the source of the noise, but Tsengs hand in his hair suddenly
tightened into a fist and pulled, yanking his head back and exposing a flushed neck and a
bobbing Adam’s apple, which Tseng quickly took upon himself to tease with a tongue
that rarely left its home behind two rows of perfectly white teeth.
Feeling electricity travel from his heart to his finger tips and back, Vincent fell
backwards onto the massive black couch that occupied the lobby to his house, using his
gloved hands to drag his lover with him. Springs bounced as they landed, and again that
bizarre sound of paper, but it was quickly drowned out by a sound that Vincent had come
to fear and dread in the past days, weeks, months.
The ringing of a phone can cut deeper than any knife.
Face red, and eyes wild, Tseng ripped the cell phone from his jacket, and flipped it open.
The phone bound him like hand cuffs- Tseng was a slave to his job and a slave to the
phone that was the doorway to his job. Vincent had asked him, just once, to ignore a call,
and the look he’d received in response had been enough to stop him from ever asking
again. Thus, it was with growing dread and frustration that Vincent watched Tseng raise
the phone to his ear.
“Tseng here. Yes, I... but... yes. Of course.” And that was it. The conversations were
never long, despite the maelstrom of activity they incited. Tseng closed the phone and
returned it to his jacket, feigning anger, feigning cursing, but Vincent could see the manic
gleam in his eyes. He could see the hunger there, a hunger that even he could not fulfill.
“You have to go.” Vincent said, not a question- a gate, thrown wide open, for Tseng to
walk out of. Tseng hesitated for just a moment, and Vincent used that time to hope
against hope for once he would wait until morning, and use the door.
“Yes.” Tseng said, tersely, strained. He seemed to be struggling with something inside,
and with significant hesitation he produced a notepad from the pocket next to his evening
killing phone. He wrote on it briefly, pen flying, and then ripped the written on page free.
He leaned in close for a final kiss, and while Vincent’s attention was locked on the final,
fervent embrace, Tseng slipped the piece of paper into the man’s dark collar. And then he
was gone.
Vincent watched him go as he had so many times before, unwilling to take the paper
from his jacket. Sometimes suspense was best. It could be any number of things- an
address, a time for a secret rendezvous, a hidden emotion that Tseng could not bring his
vocal chords to express. Hand shaking, Vincent reached up and plucked the small note
away, unfolding it with eager eyes, and read it.
Vincent blinked in surprise. What was it supposed to mean? Was it a joke, an apology, a
simple memento to remember the evening by? And just like that, Vincent remembered a
sound, something that had seemed so insignificant at the time. The crinkling of paper. He
reached up and plucked the object from his hair, where he somehow instinctively knew it
would be. A hundred dollar bill, folded neatly into the shape of a heart. With a sighing
heart, he re-read the note.
“I always pay for dinner.”