Part 1, MAKE IT MEDIUM-RARE
“Eric, did a ‘Brian’ make a reservation tonight?” Lisa asked.
It was a moderately busy Tuesday evening at The Rancho Steakhouse,
a landmark restaurant on the North San Diego county coastline that specialized
in serving dry-aged prime steaks, lobster and prawns. The season would
officially kick off on Memorial Day weekend…just 10 days away.
“Yes, Brian should have been here 10 minutes ago with three
others.” It was 7:40 p.m., and Eric Flynn was the closing manager for the
restaurant tonight. As General Manager, he had lots of daytime administrative
paper shuffling, and ‘turning the key’ at midnight, so that the evening manager
could get his days off, were a drag. Necessary…but a drain on Eric’s energy,
nevertheless.
“A couple of them work with me at The
Factory, and Brian’s a new manager. I know they’ll be here.” Lisa was a
cocktail server who had two jobs. At lunch, Lisa was a server at The Factory,
an upscale, casual restaurant seven miles south in Del Mar.
“I’ll give you a shout when they come
in. We’ll take good care of them,” he said with a smile, before studying the
remaining reservations.
“Thanks,” Lisa replied, tray in hand, as
she returned to the dining room just as the phone rang.
“Good evening, Rancho Steakhouse, how
may I help you?” The hostess was seating a party, and Eric naturally grabbed
the telephone.
~~~ “Hi, this is Brian McGruder. I’ve
missed my reservation ’cause one of the people has still not arrived from L.A.
Can I move it up to eight-thirty?”
“Brian, I’ll do that. But just so you
know, the last reservation is at 9:00 p.m.” ‘Hmm, so that’s his last name,’
Eric considered. During the week, the steakhouse closed fairly early. Southern
California and the beach community residents in Encinitas liked to eat early at
the many restaurants that dotted the coastline. The families would go home
immediately after dinner, and the younger crowd would party hard at nearby bars
and clubs, later. On Friday and Saturday, they served until eleven.
~~~ “No problem. Thanks, buddy. What’s your name?”
“Eric. Eric Flynn. I’ll see you then.”
~~~ “I’m in this crazy business, too,
Eric. We’ll definitely be there. Lisa has told me good things about your
restaurant. Bye, bye.”
‘As long as he gets here within a
reasonable time,’ he thought. On a Tuesday night, Eric didn’t want to drag on
closing the restaurant and run up costs. Just then, a good-looking young couple
walked into the lobby, paneled with distressed wood. He checked the clock and
verified it was 7:45 p.m. He also checked out the ‘hunk factor’ as the guy
announced his name.
“Hi. My name is Scott. I have
reservations for 8:00 p.m.” Eric momentarily glanced at the ‘book’ and checked
off the name.
“Scott, welcome. Good to have you two
with us,” Eric replied with his megawatt smile, as he studied the attractive
couple. While the blond girlfriend looked elsewhere, Eric gave the handsome
surfer-type the ‘ok’ high sign. The reservation indicated that Scott was going
to propose marriage tonight and he planned on making his young guest a shining
knight in the eyes of the lady.
“Somewhere in a corner?” Scott asked,
with an almost timid, pleading expression. He was wearing the Southern
California young, male uniform-of-the-day: tee, open shirt, low-slung jeans and
flip-flops. The jeans were snuggly molded around a well-packed crotch. This was
a typical look would be modified to a tee and cargo shorts when summer arrived.
“Got a great table for you. Follow me.”
The manager mentally undressed Scott as he seated the couple. Eric was a man
who could easily fit the image of a young father, older brother or adult son;
he always made the guests – whatever their age – feel comfortable. His casual,
friendly, non-intimidating manner made him very popular with the locals. They
always called Eric for a reservation. He wanted Scott and his fiancée to
remember this night and return the ‘Eric’s place’, as many called The Rancho.
He never let on to any hot, hunky, male
guests that his ultimate fantasy was to go down on the guy in the middle of the
dining room. With the sound of steaks sizzling on the display-cooking grill in
the background, Eric pictured himself nailing the guy against one of the
booths. ‘Ah, all these straight, cute dudes not knowing what they’re missing,’
Eric thought, with a mischievous chuckle.
For the 32-year-old manager, there was an abundance of eye-candy.
In addition to being popular with affluent, coastal residents, the restaurant
was only 15 miles south of Oceanside and Camp Pendleton. Nightly, the surfers,
college students, single executives, families and Marines mingled together with
an easy informality. Rancho was a great place to take a date, wife or the guys
for dinner. The quality was high, the prices were reasonable, and the
atmosphere was very rustic.
Most of the reservations showed up in
the next 45 minutes. The dining room was two third’s full and several people
were sitting around the fire pit outside on the patio having after-dinner
drinks and beers. Eric had just returned from making the rounds in the kitchen,
dining room and bar, when a good-looking threesome entered the restaurant,
laughing. The two men, kind of a ‘Mutt-Jeff’ combination, were escorting a
lovely, twenty-ish, tanned woman dressed in a sweater, tight jeans and heels.
The taller man, probably around thirty, stepped forward and said, “Hi. You must
be Eric?”
“Guilty as charged,” Eric replied with a
grin, as he observed the men. The guy who just spoke was conventionally, preppy
handsome with short, light brown hair and matched Eric’s trim, six-foot height.
He wore a black, crew sweater and khakis. The ‘Mutt’ was more in the shorter,
lithe, surfer mode. Eric guessed him to be in his mid-20’s. ‘Pretty
cool-looking group,’ Eric judged, as he glanced at the clock. It read 8:25 p.m.
“My name’s Brian McGruder,” he said, as
he shook Eric’s hand. “This is Karen, and my bodyguard is Steve.”
Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere
immediately loosened between the strangers. ‘Steve is a real hottie,’ Eric
thought, while observing the guy’s sun-streaked hair, freckles, great eyelashes
and baby blues.
“You’re still going to be ‘four’?” Eric
asked, before releasing Brian’s warm, strong hand.
“We lost the fourth. He’s still hung up
in some sort of traffic jam in Orange County. It’ll just be the three of us. By
the way, here’s my card, Eric. I’m the new manager at The Factory. Karen, the
kids and I just moved down here two weeks ago from L.A.”
‘Damn,’ Eric thought, wistfully,
‘another hetero breeder.’
“Lisa mentioned that. Welcome to the
area, Brian. Allow me to buy y’all a round of drinks.” The hostess had menus in
hand, and Eric pointed to a table on the room diagram. “I’ve got an ideal table
for you. I’ll stop by, later.”
“Please do,” Brian said, as the
threesome were led away to the dining room. Just then, Lisa cruised by the
front desk with a drink order.
“Oh, Lisa, your friends just arrived.
They’re on table 23. Brian, Karen and Steve. The fourth is tied up in OC
traffic and won’t make it.”
“That would be Steve’s boyfriend. Well,
I’m sure that they’ll get together at ‘Mother’s’ later.” Mother’s, or ‘Mom’s’
as the local wags had nicknamed it, was a hot, gay bar, nearby in Solana Beach.
Eric would stop in after work occasionally.
‘A shame all the cute ones are either
taken or straight,’ Eric concluded, looking at Steve and Brian in the dining
room.
“Buy them the first round on me. Okay?”
Eric said with a wink. The complimentary drinks were an unwritten rule of
professional courtesy that you offered to another restaurant manager.
“Thanks, boss.” Lisa nodded, and scooted
into the dining room with a tray of cocktails.
Two other parties arrived and were
promptly seated. On Friday and Saturday evenings, there was usually a small
wait. Over the next hour, Eric bounced between the dining room, ‘stroking’ the
guests, and the front door to say good night. As GM for the past four years, he
was very intent on building and keeping steady, local business. It reflected
well on his year-end bonus check.
He smiled at himself as a party of four
Marines departed. He always bought the first round of drinks for anyone on
active duty. It was not lost on the grunts that this generosity was heartfelt.
Politics aside, Eric felt it was his duty to support the morale of the guys. It
also didn’t hurt that he found these young, trim, muscular warriors with their
‘high and tight’ haircuts very sexy.
As guests continued to leave, Eric
pondered the past decade of his still-young life, taking personal inventory:
his San Diego State years and a failed marriage with a college sweetheart. A
‘B’ average with a BS degree from school and an ‘F’ in a straight relationship.
The only good thing from the two-year marriage was a terrific son.
The bad news was that ‘Brenda the Bitch’
moved to Virginia several years ago. She told Eric that it was best that their
then four-year old son not be contaminated from being around his queer dad.
‘Cunt,’ he thought, sadly.
Since they were in Virginia, there was
no way to enforce parental visitation rights. Thus, he had not seen Eric,
Junior, in eight years, and his phone calls were never returned. Letters came
back marked, ‘return to sender’ in Brenda’s handwriting. He doubted that the
kid was even aware that his dad had constantly tried to contact him.
Eric moved through a series of upwardly
mobile restaurant manager positions before landing at The Rancho four years
ago. The evidence of his professional success was a great, secure, well-paying
job and an ocean-view condo. Not so positive was his personal life. Just a
string of boy friends that went no further than some affairettes and
occasional, fast fucks that left Eric a ‘dull’ boy in the relationship
department. ‘Thank God for the Internet,’ he concluded, slightly embarrassed
that he would probably be jerking to a Corbin Fisher video tonight.
He warmly said good night to a family of
four he knew well. Eric had known the doctor, his wife and two sons since he
came to The Rancho. The boys, now 19 and 17 years of age, had filled out and
were absolutely adorable. But other than admiring the two, young, virile men,
Eric maintained an older brother rapport. ‘Plucking chicken’ wasn’t his thing.
Eric had just finished checking out the
early server’s reports and deposits in the rear of the dining room, when he saw
the party from table 23 get up. He dashed around the side of the room, not
wanting to appear eager to get back up front.
“Lisa was right on the mark. This is
terrific food,” Brian warmly said to Eric, as they approached each other in the
foyer. “And thanks for the drinks.” He extended his hand, and Eric shook it.
Brian’s eyes sparkled as he grinned.
“You’ve got to come down to The
Factory,” Steve added. “Ask for my station, so I can take good care of you.” He
smiled and also shook Eric’s hand, firmly gripping Eric’s arm with his free
left hand.
“Can I offer you guys an after-dinner
drink before the bar closes? You’d enjoy the fire pit,” Eric suggested.
“Buddy, thanks for the offer, but Karen
and I have to get back so the sitter can go home,” Brian said. “Plus, I know
that Steve is probably going over to meet his friend at, um…what’s the
name...oh, yeah, Mother’s.”
“I just got a call from Jerry. He’s back
from that Orange County traffic fiasco and waiting for me,” Steve confirmed.
“Okay, guys. Karen, nice meeting you.
Perhaps you’ll bring in the whole family for an early dinner sometime? We’ve
got a very reasonable kid’s menu.”
“At four and six, the boys will wolf
down anything. We’ll do that sometime.”
“Eric, why don’t you join us at Mom’s?
I’d like Jerry to meet you,” Steve said. “And who knows who else might be
there?”
‘There was a marvelous, impish quality
about Steve’s smile,’ Eric thought.
“If I can get this place shut down early
enough, I might just do that. Thanks for the offer. Brian, welcome again to the
neighborhood. I look forward to seeing you soon.” Eric shook hands with all,
again, and waved goodnight. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘Karen is lucky to have that
guy.’
For the next 45 minutes, Eric went
through the closing procedures. When the last dishwasher clocked out, it was
only 11:00 p.m. After turning off the lights and engaging the alarm system, he
decided to take up Steve’s invitation to stop by for a beer. ‘Mom’s was almost
on the way home,’ he decided. ‘It would be nice to know Steve better and meet
his lover. Maybe he does have some other single friends?’
Driving down the 405 was almost like
being on autopilot. Eric had made this trip almost daily for the past four
years. Getting off at the Lomas Santa Fe exit, he turned right towards old
town. Normally, Eric would turn inland and travel the road up to the hill where
his condo was perched high over the coastline. His home had been convenient to
drag someone out of Mom’s on more than one occasion.
Mom’s was in the middle of a
bar-infested block. Somehow the gay and hetero crowd co-existed on the busy
street. Parking was always a problem, and tonight was no exception. Eric found
a spot in a closed hardware store lot and hiked three blocks to Mom’s. It was
late enough for a guy’s nocturnal horniness to kick in. Straight and gay
pairings, looking for love, had started the nightly exodus from the bars to the
cars. The street was quite lively with foot traffic.
Eric never minded being ‘carded’ at the
front door of a bar. He was proud of his youthful image and loved the
inevitable, unbelieving reaction from the door security man when his age was
checked on the driver’s license.
“Good evening,” he said to the guy
outside Mom’s. He automatically pulled out his driver’s license and waited for
the big, trim hulk of a guy to verify his age.
“Hey, man,” said the security guy. “I
thought you were 25, tops. About my age.”
“You been here long?” ‘There must be a
big turnover at the door,’ Eric judged. ‘I seldom see the same guy, twice.’ “I
get in here once in a while.”
“Just started two weeks ago. This whole
routine of verifying someone’s age is new for me. But, man, you really look
good for an old man,” he said with a chuckle.
“It must be the 1800 tequila I order for
the margaritas,” Eric replied with a chuckle.
“Then I’m switching to 1800 tonight.”
The tall, young, muscular security doorman didn’t have to worry. Mom’s hired
the door guys to be a combination of tempting eye candy and assertive security.
Like the hunky bartenders, all the male employees were encouraged to flaunt
their raw, clean-cut, youthful sexiness.
“Do you take it ‘neat’ or on the rocks?”
Eric asked, smiling at the possible sexual direction of the repartee. He
admired the young man. The tight, black, security t-shirt showed off a very
well built guy who obviously took care of himself. The right short sleeve
almost, but not quite, covered a tat that was the bottom part of the USMC
emblem.
‘Hey, how I take it is not your
business…yet,” the security guy said, laughing with a wink. Eric loved that
this man took the flirting positive and threw it right back.
“Until we get to ‘yet’, here’s something
to buy that drink, after work,” Eric said, as he palmed a five-dollar bill with
a business card in the doorman’s hand. “My name’s Eric.” Aside from the fiver
being a small token of thanks for the doorman doing his job well, Eric knew
that the business card would create a positive spin of The Rancho. ‘The guy
must come in contact with hundreds of people,’ Eric thought. He also wouldn’t
mind meeting this hunk another time.
“Thanks. I will take advantage of your
generosity…later,” the doorman responded enthusiastically. “My name’s Brad.”
This was more of a friendly acknowledgement than a come-on. Brad professionally
took the gratuity and discretely shoved it in his pants pocket. He kept the business
card in his hand and looked at it briefly.
“No problem. I’ll have one with you if
I’m still here.”
“Jesus, I love your restaurant,” he
reacted when The Rancho logo was recognized. I haven’t been there for several
years, though.”
“It musta been before my time. And I’ve
been there four years.” Eric stood back to let a few guys through the door.
Brad checked their I.D.’s and waved them in.
“I was just out of boot camp at
Pendleton. A group of us went to The Rancho to celebrate our graduation. That’d
be six years ago. I was stationed in South Korea and then rotated to Iraq for
two tours,” Brad said with a shadowed seriousness.
“Wow, a war hero too. I’m impressed,”
Eric replied, slapping Brad’s shoulder playfully.
“I don’t know about that shit, but I was
there. Just got out of the Corps last month and moved back here. Me and my
buddy are going to attend Cal State San Marcos in the fall.”
“Buddy, as in…”
“A real close buddy. Hey, Eric, I didn’t
mean to mislead you. You understand I was just goofing with a nice guy?” Brad
asked with concern.
“Absolutely. I was goofing with a nice
guy, too. Tell you what; bring your buddy in for dinner. The treat’s on me. I
gotta meet the man that stole your heart.” ‘Fuck,’ thought Eric. ‘Strike one
and I’m not even in the door.’
“You got a deal. Maybe I’ll see ya
later,” Brad replied with a friendly Marine salute. Eric nodded goodbye and
walked inside Mom’s.
The long, narrow room was very
cruising-friendly. Straight ahead was the bar with stools for around 20 guests.
On the opposite wall was a drinking ledge, and in the center of the room were
five ‘high-top’ tables and stools. Mirrors on each wall gave the room a visual
width. The background music had a steady, driven beat that was accented by
pulsing lighting.
‘Thank God, California banned smoking in
bars,’ Eric thought, as he strolled through. He remembered his younger,
barhopping years when he’d come home reeking like a cigarette butt…and he never
smoked.
Quite a few guys were still in the bar.
However, Eric observed that there were very few singles. He was about to check
the poolroom and the patio when he heard, “Hey, Eric, over here,” above the din
of the room. At the end of the bar he saw Steve, waving. He waved back and
walked over to his new friend and a cute, second guy.
“Hi, buddy,” Eric said with a grin.
Steve immediately jumped off the stool and hugged him before planting a wet
kiss on Eric’s cheek.
“We are now officially friends,” Steve
replied. “And this is my man, Jerry Franz. He’s still pissed that he didn’t get
down here in time for that great dinner.” Jerry stood and took Eric’s hand. The
501’s and form-fitting tank top flattered Jerry’s sculpted body.
“Hi, Jerry. I’m Eric Flynn. Sorry you
couldn’t make it. Perhaps you two can come in soon? We’ve got a few nice,
secluded, dark tables for lovers only.” Eric smiled and squeezed Jerry’s hand,
for emphasis. The bartender came over and took Eric’s order for a Bud Light.
“Nice meeting you. I’ll really look
forward to the visit. I just transferred to The Factory from the Long Beach
location and don’t know too much about this area.” Jerry explained that Steve
and he had met in Long Beach six months ago, and Steve had already accepted a
transfer.
“So, Jer and I have kept the flames
burning via long distance visits until he could get his cute buns transferred,”
Steve added.
“Steve told me that you’re a single
man?” Jerry asked.
“Yep. Too single, if you know what I
mean,” Eric replied with a shrug, as he jerked his left fist up and down,
facing the guys with his back to the door.
“Well, I’ve got a guy that might just be
a good friend for you,” Steve said. “I’m pretty sure that he’ll be here, soon.”
“Really? Steve, you move fast.” Eric was
curious whom Steve had in mind.
“It’s the Steve queer dating service,”
Jerry said with a laugh.
“Strike while the iron is hot, as they
say,” Steve relied. “Speaking of the devil…”
“Hey, guys. I found you,” came a voice
from behind. After turning around, Eric’s mouth almost flew open with surprise
when he recognized the man.
“Um, hi again,” mumbled Eric with a
feeble smile, as he tried desperately to recover from the shock.
“Hi, Mac. Glad you could get away,”
Steve added. Both he and Jerry warmly greeted their friend with aggressive
handshakes.
“Listen, if you would excuse us, Steve
and I are going to duck out to the patio for a smoke. We’ll be back in a few,”
Jerry said, before the two lovers departed.
“Brian, this is a little bit of a
surprise, seeing you here.” Eric regained his composure and projected more
assertion and command. Brian McGruder was still wearing the same sweater and
khakis.
“Steve insisted that I show up. Seems he
knows someone I should get to know better,” Brian said with a smile. The
bartender brought Eric’s beer and Brian asked for the same. It took all of
Eric’s willpower not to wilt from Brian’s presence.
“He said the same thing to me. But I
gotta tell you, Brian, I don’t mess around with married men,” Eric replied with
measured sternness.
“Well, neither do I, if that’s any
consolation, but…oh fuck, I think I have some s’plaining to do, as Ricky used
to say,” Brian replied. Eric caught the Lucy reference but was puzzled at the
use of it.
“Let’s start with your wife and kids.”
Eric took a sip from the longneck and stared at Brian.
“I guess I assumed you knew that I’m a single, gay man,” Brian
said, with concern creeping over his handsome face.
“Single? Gay?” Eric’s expression changed
from puzzlement to incredulity. “How do you explain Karen?”
“Easy. She’s my sister, and the two boys
are her kids. Her ex-husband, the rat bastard, took off over a year ago and
left Sis stranded. She and the kids had a tough time adjusting to his
departure. When I accepted the transfer, Karen asked if she and my nephews
could come down and temporarily live with me. What could I say? The boys will
both be going to school in the fall, and Karen will become a working mom. We’ve
agreed that she’ll find her own place by September.”
“Well, you had me going, Brian,” Eric
said with relief, knowing that they were both batting on the same team. The
bartender sat the second beer in front of Brian. He grabbed for the bottle and
took a long pull as Eric started reappraising the man before him. ‘Oh shit,’
Eric thought, ‘could this be the real deal?’
“I’ll be honest with you. I overheard
Lisa talking to one of the servers at The Factory about you not long ago. She
really likes you and was lamenting how you have been in a dry spell with
boyfriends. I guess that piqued my curiosity.” The two men cautiously studied
each other’s expressions and verbal nuances. ‘Christ,’ Brian considered,
‘little does he know how dry my spell’s been.’
“Ha. Dry spell is an understatement, and
I don’t think a career in the restaurant business helps matters,” Eric
answered. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time I had a Friday or Saturday
night off.” Eric’s eyes shifted to his beer bottle. He started peeling back the
label.
“Eric, I do. It’s been about eight
years. I keep thinking that I’ll find Mr. Right. But who wants to sit at home,
alone, on weekends waiting for a working guy? Tonight’s Tuesday and this is my
big evening.” Brian’s hand gently rested on Eric’s shoulder very naturally.
Eric, in reflex, put his hand around his friend’s waist. He pulled Brian closer
until their legs were touching.
“I don’t have to be at work until early
afternoon. How about you?”
“I’m closing tomorrow night, so I don’t
have to be in until around two,” Brian answered.
“Then here’s what I propose. I’ve got a
fridge full of beer and a couple of neat chardonnays. What say we come back to
my place and get to know each other better? I live right up the hill.” Eric
cautiously pushed his groin into Brian’s, so that their growing cocks were
touching. ‘Please, God, make this a base hit,’ Eric wished.
‘I’d like that.” Brian emphasized the
point by subtly grinding his straining crotch. Only cloth separated the
intimate moment. “But would it be rude to leave the guys without saying
goodnight?” Both were aware of the other’s extremely hardness.
“I think they’ll understand.” Eric
pulled out a ten, laid it on the bar, and took Brian’s hand.
“Yeah, I think they will.”
_________________________________
TO BE
CONTINUED
Many thanks to Drew in London and Brad in Denver for
their suggestions and editing. This short story is dedicated to the thousands
of men and women in the hospitality industry.
They work so others can play.