Heteroflexible

“Well, first off, that’s not likely. Second off, you’d literally see me leave the restaurant—as you are parked right in front of the entrance doors.”

“I … but I …” Jimmy presses his lips together, frowning.

He looks so stinking cute when he pouts.

“Besides,” I go on, “it’s Saturday and the restaurant is busy. You don’t want to occupy a table that a paying customer could sit at, and interfere with your ma’s business, now do you?”

Jimmy sounds hurt I’d even put it that way. “I’m not hurtin’ no one’s nothin’. I’m always welcome here. It’s my mama’s place and I know everyone. Besides, you and your lil’ date aren’t paying customers either, dummy.”

Oh, yeah. Forgot that bit. “Jimmy, it doesn’t matter. I’m—”

“And what if I worked up a little appetite out there?” he goes on, straightening up his back indignantly. “I deserve to get a nice and tasty meal on the house, too, now don’t I? Haven’t I earned it, being the owner’s son and all?—and your chauffeur tonight?”

I roll my eyes. “You shouldn’t even be walking around. What are you doing racing around a restaurant on your bad foot?”

“It’s fine. I don’t feel a thing. I can walk normal already.”

“Jimmy, you should be in the car with your foot up, resting it. Don’t you give a damn about not damaging your dancing feet any more than you already have? Those are your moneymakers!”

“I said it’s fine. I could do a tap dance right now if I wanted.”

I roll my eyes. Again. Second time in the space of ten seconds. “Jimmy, you and I both know you aren’t hungry. You’re just—”

“Maybe I don’t have some fancy date to share a meal with,” he says, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a high-class and super juicy medium-rare steak. They are killer here, by the way. Killer. Mario Tucci, I swear by everythin’ good and tasty, is a damned genius in the kitchen. Ooph, the things he can do to a cut of sirloin …”

If he only knew who my date is.

I let go of Jimmy, AKA the lost cause, and step up to a sink to wash my hands for whatever reason. “I think the issue here is just obvious as all get-out,” I tell Jimmy’s reflection in front of me.

Jimmy stares back at me through the mirror. “Issue? What issue is so obvious?”

“You’re jealous.”

“J—” He can’t even say the word. “J—” He sputters five more times like a buffoon. “What does that even mean?? Why? What?”

“You don’t like it when I’m seein’ guys. I noticed it all the time back at South Wood. You hated when guys showed me attention or when I went on dates, as sadly seldom as it was that I did.” I finish and snatch a paper towel off a stack of them in a fancy red wicker basket on the counter. “You’re as predictable as the rain, Jimmy.”

“The rain isn’t predictable,” he spits back. “Weathermen get it wrong all the damned time.”

I turn around to face him, then drop all the attitude and speak to him sincerely. “Jimmy, can you just let me have this date? Just one little dumb date with this Malcolm guy, just to see where it might possibly go?”

Jimmy studies my face long and hard.

“I’m genuinely curious, believe it or not,” I add. “I mean, it has been half a century since I’ve been on a date, anyway.”

“Humph,” he grunts. “Malcolm, you said?”

I nod. “Yes. Malcolm.”

“Stupid name,” he mumbles, takes a step back from me, then says, “I’m eatin’ a meal. And that napkin drop is still your signal, Bobby.”

Seriously, with his stubbornness. “Jimmy …”

“So you go on then and enjoy your date.”

The glare I give him seems to melt something inside him.

Jimmy’s demeanor changes. “I mean, I want you to enjoy it. I told you, I’m here for you. Ain’t nothin’ about that’s changed. It’s just … I want you to be smart about it, alright? Don’t go givin’ your heart away for free or nothin’.”

“Oh, I sure as heck won’t be doin’ that,” I assure him. “Not with Malcolm Tucci as my date.”

Jimmy huffs, then limps over to the door to see himself out.

Then he stops. “Wait.” He turns back to me. “Tucci? Malcolm Tucci? As in … Mario Tucci’s son Malcolm?”

Ah, finally it’s clicked. I gain a spring in my step when I saunter up to the door myself, then throw Jimmy a self-assured smirk right in his face. “You bet your ass that’s who my date is.” I push through the heavy bathroom door ahead of him, then throw over my shoulder, “Enjoy your steak.”

The gawping look he gives me as he watches me walk away is as hilarious as it is heartbreaking.

Eat your heart out, Jimmy Strong.

14

JIMMY

I’ve never chewed on a piece of succulent, perfectly-cooked, exquisitely-seasoned steak so angrily in my life.