We Have Till Monday

It took a beat before I heard anything, long enough for me to suspect they’d locked themselves in somewhere.

“…just wanted to meet him.”

“I know, darlin’, but you need more recovery time to come out of your regression.” That was King, in a low, reasoning tone. And he confirmed my guesses. “This isn’t what you want to hear, but I think you should rest today.”

“But, Daddy…”

Cazzo, that soft whine coming from Camden was something else.

“Hey.” King lowered his voice further. “This is on me. I should’ve told Clara today was off-limits. I knew you weren’t ready.”

“I am—I will be—”

“No. You will take today off. You know our rule, love. We don’t push our lifestyle onto others, do we?”

I’d heard all I needed to hear, and I felt the most forceful urge to assure them that I didn’t mind. Because I didn’t. I returned to the kitchen island and decided to wait for one or both of them to get back, and then I’d say something.

In one capacity or another, I’d been around alternative dynamics all my adult life, and I knew the stress it could bring to have to constantly explain yourself to people who didn’t get it. I was lucky in that my folks had accepted my sexuality fairly quickly. Pop and Nonno had been on the fence for a while, which I’d counted on. Irish-Italians smack-dab in the middle of Brooklyn, with Catholicism’s chokehold as an added spice. An instant acceptance hadn’t been on the radar. But they’d come around, thanks to Ma and Nonna. And by the time Nicky came out, they were seasoned pros.

My family had struggled more to accept my relationship with Charles, who’d been thirty years older than me.

This was no different. Fetishes were just an extension of our sexuality. We didn’t choose our kinks and preferences.

When King returned, I could tell he had another apology on the tip of his tongue, and he was probably ready to scrap this day and try again later tonight. So I spoke before he could.

“I have friends in the lifestyle. You don’t have to hide that when it’s just me.” I was still a realistic man, and Camden running around like a carefree kid tonight would likely not go over well with some of the other guests.

I was fairly certain I detected at least an ounce or two of relief in King’s eyes, and some of the tension eased off his shoulders.

“I appreciate your sayin’ that, Anthony, but I knew today was a bad idea.” He opened a cupboard and hauled out two bowls in different sizes. “PR people—Christ. Can’t reason with them. Clara would probably turn our life into a reality show if nobody hit the brakes.”

I couldn’t imagine. My own life was as different from theirs as it could be.

Hoping I wasn’t overstepping my boundaries, I joined King at the long counter along the wall and turned on the water in the sink to wash my hands.

“Well, instead of kicking me out, how about you put me to work? I’m completely useless at cooking, but I clean up like a champ.”

He gave me a sideways look. And a faint smile. “First of all, my mama would tan my hide if I gave my guests chores to do. Second, you should be running for the hills.”

“A saying that actually works in this area,” I noted.

He chuckled and pulled out several spices from another cupboard.

Sensing he wasn’t wholly convinced yet, I went a step further. “Teach me, Chef. I didn’t come all the way to Nashville to stand by and watch.”

That seemed to work. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded at the island behind him. “In the top drawer, you’ll find measuring cups. I guess I can teach you how to make a marinade.”

Now we were talking.

Chapter 4

Difference Maker

As the song drew toward its close, I spoke into the mic. This song and the next were connected by a segue, so we didn’t stop completely. “If ‘Difference Maker’ didn’t already clue you in, the next one probably will,” I said. “My brother and I grew up in a church—it’s where we started learning how to play instruments, and it’s where we met this amazing group of friends behind us. They’re part of our local gospel choir, but they left their shiny robes at home for this gig.” I grinned to myself when I heard the chuckles from the audience.

Sylvia switching from piano to the organ was my cue.

I leaned into the mic again, gripping it with both hands, and closed my eyes.

I was ready to surrender.

“A couple tablespoons of black pepper.” King placed the pepper in front of me, and I dutifully poured it into the measuring spoon.

“Are you just pulling these amounts outta nowhere?” I wondered, because it felt that way.

“Depends what you’re really askin’.” He moved away from the counter and headed for the fridge while I poured the pepper into the mixing bowl. “My head isn’t what I’d call nowhere. But if you’re wonderin’ if I have an actual recipe for marinades, the answer is not really.”