Kiss Me, Straight

Chapter 6-1

Chapter 6

The next morning began much the same way, meaning me in a rumpled shirt from off the floor going down to Katie’s for coffee. However, since Katie had taken the leftover almond croissants home, I went across the street to Marzipan! first to grab a couple of bagels for breakfast.

Jet-lagged as usual, I pushed through the door around 10:00 A.M., which is my favorite time to drop in to Marzipan!, as the breakfast crowd has pretty much thinned and the lunch crowd hasn’t gotten hungry yet. It is usually nice and bright late in the morning, even on an overcast day, because the entire wall to the right of the door is a series of sliding windows, looking out along Divisadero Street. The casual arrangement of small tables and this long, open wall make the café feel more like a little trattoria at this time of the day. Opposite these windows is the counter, behind which both of The Hot Twins were working, which brightened my morning considerably. Tall and lean, they are indistinguishable one from the other to the casual observer, as they both dress in the same type of thrift-store T-shirts and low-riding jeans, have the same f****d-up wayward spiky haircut and home henna dye job, and even have identical tattoos on their ropy forearms. Marzipan knows them well and reports that they have wildly disparate personalities and interests, which is no doubt the case, but I never have the least clue which one is helping me behind the counter, and I think Chris and their other co-workers can only tell them apart once they have determined who is wearing what. I know Marzipan spends time with them naked together, but any distinguishing birthmarks or freckles are invisible when they are clothed for work.

I made Regular Customer small talk to Hot Twin A while Hot Twin B toasted the sesame bagels I had ordered for myself and Katie. This set-up had the very pleasing effect of allowing me to admire one twin’s long, handsome face while simultaneously drooling over the other one’s juicy-peach ass. When Hot Twin A gave me my change, I dropped most of it in the tip jar; the spectacular view they offered was well worth the price.

I was getting ready to take my bagels across the street when Chris emerged from the bathroom, tying his white apron under the heavy, sagging bulge in his red T-shirt.

“Todd!” he exclaimed, giving me another of his signature sweaty hugs. He smelled of cologne and coffee and there was the slightest trace of armpit odor, inoffensive to my nose, so recently abroad in the streets of Paris, but there. “Nice to see you at the start of my day.”

“Oh, hi, Chris. You just getting here?”

“Yup. I start at ten. Are you just getting out of bed?”

“It’s that obvious?” A rhetorical question. “Sleeping it off, you know. Takes me a few days to catch up from these Europe trips. I’m going across the street; I’ll be better after a couple of cups at Katie’s.”

“Oh yeah, Paris, I forgot. Yeah, that coffee she pours is pretty hard-core.”

“Thank God.”

He laughed. “Well, will you get a chance to take a nap today? I’d love to have you up for dinner, show you my place.”

“I saw it yesterday,” I reminded him. “I helped Katie with those curtains.”

“Which look great, by the way. I love the material, and she does amazing work. But I wasn’t home, you haven’t had the tour.”

“I could guide the tour, Chris. I live in the exact same apartment, remember?”

“Come on, Mister Hard-to-Get. Would you just let me make you dinner? I mean,” he added, “if you don’t have plans already or something…”

“He’s a great cook, bro.” Hot Twin A (or B) informed me.

“Yeah,” Hot Twin B (or A) chimed in. “If you got plans for dinner, change ‘em. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I don’t have plans. What time do you get off work?”

He beamed. “Around seven.”

“What if I come up around eight?”

“Great!”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Really?”

I paused for one second, not realizing he would challenge the validity of this social nicety. Nice guy, home-cooked meal, don’t have to put shoes on to go there. Upon reflection, I was easily able to say, “Really.”

“Great!” Another hug. “See you around eight. Say hi to Katie.”

In fact, Katie was sitting at the sewing machine in her window, and I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was only pretending not to be watching us. “She’s watching us over there,” I told Chris. “Say hi to her yourself.”

I waved to demonstrate, and Katie studiously pretended to be absorbed in her sewing, so I told Chris to wave, too, and with both of us standing there waving, she was forced to acknowledge our salutation, and she waved back. “Nosy,” I told him, and I left and crossed the street with my bag of bagels.

The bell tinkled as always as I barged into the Button Hole. Katie had abandoned her seat in the window, carefully laying the sundress she was working on across the sewing table as a window display.

She offered her cheek, and I kissed it as usual. “Hi, nosy,” I greeted her.

“What nosy?” she said, not even ashamed of being caught practically spying. “Their huge window is right across the street from my huge window. Marzipan! is not a good place for keeping secrets from me. Seemed to be a lot of hugging going on over there. You got a date tonight?”

I shrugged off the implication. “Hey, a boy’s gotta eat. Take a look at the guy, he must be doin’ something right in the kitchen. You should come, too.”

Katie gave me a sly look. “I’m not sure that’s what the boy has in mind. Seems he’s hoping for a slightly more intimate gathering. Besides, he didn’t invite me.”

“An oversight, I’m sure. He needs to learn eventually that we usually come as a package.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to make it through one meal without me.”

“Well, maybe, but let’s not make it breakfast. Would you come and have a bagel already?”