Page 4 of Mutual Obsessions

“Hello. We have a reservation for six, but it seems our four companions aren’t going to make it. Name’s DeWitt, and we’re happy to sit at the bar if you have space.”

The handsome man stared at me before he grinned. “That won’t be necessary. I have seating in the music conservatory. Please, follow me.”

Cubby chuckled beside me as the host produced two leather-bound books and led us through the dining room, past the kitchen, and into a beautiful room with a striking black grand piano on the left and various other instruments on stands around the perimeter. A golden harp in the corner looked like something out of an animated movie.

Mr. Tremblay, whose age was indeterminable, led us to a table near the sleek black piano and pulled out our chairs. When we sat, he placed the sizable burgundy menu books in front of us and snapped his fingers. “Bring a chair for me. Water and hot towels for my guests, if you please.”

A young man and a woman hurried away while another man brought a chair to the table. An additional place setting was added to the square marble table, and before we knew it, the staff returned with a crystal pitcher of water and glasses filled with ice. Another young man carried a tray, and we were given warm towels to clean our hands. It was as though everyone moved through the room without taking steps or making a sound. It was a little surreal.

The host joined us for dinner, which was a surprise. “I am Etienne Tremblay. This is my house, so welcome. I’m happy to have you dining with me tonight. Which of you is DeWitt?”

Mr. Tremblay stared directly at me as if he already knew the answer. “I’m Ryker DeWitt. I believe we spoke on the phone previously.”

He grinned. “And we crossed paths in the alley the other morning.” He remembered me. “Do you always do such careless things as running before the dawn?”

I chuckled. “Not usually, but I had a lot on my mind and needed some fresh air.”

I glanced toward Cubby to see him staring at a slender man by the kitchen pass. He returned Cubby’s appraising gaze in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

“This is my friend, Cubby. We both graduated from law school a few days ago.” I knocked my knee against Cubby’s under the table to get his attention, but his eyes seemed locked in an intense staring contest with the other guy.

Mr. Tremblay glanced to his left and smirked. “Rory don’t be rude. Come meet our special guests.”

The adorable, extremely young man approached the table with a shy smile. “Gentlemen, this is my nephew, Rory Tremblay. Rory, this is Ryker DeWitt and his friend, Cubby Brown.”

Rory stepped closer to Cubby, reaching out as if he didn’t believe Cubby was real before his hand snapped back. “Sorry.”

“Uh, Rory, be a lamb and bring out some Moules Marinières.” I glanced at Mr. Tremblay who smirked. “Muscles in a white wine cream sauce. A delicious way to begin any meal. So, tell me about yourselves.”

The younger man scampered away—literally—and Cubby’s gaze followed the kid’s ass. “Jailbait,” I coughed under my breath.

Mr. Tremblay chuckled deeply. “Rory’s appearance can be misleading. My family ages quite gracefully, so he’s older than he might look. Anyway, tell me more about yourself, Mr. Brown.”

I glanced at Cubby who shrugged. “I’m newly graduated with my juris doctorate, and I’m moving to Denver to work for a law firm contingent on me passing the bar exam for Colorado. I’m originally from Texas, but I have no desire to return to the oppressive environment I grew up in.”

Cubby went on to talk about his family and his father’s oil business, that he had no wish to join. He quickly spilled his guts, disclosing intimate details it had taken me two years to get out of him. I wasn’t sure what had come over him.

Mr. Tremblay listened without being distracted as his employees mulled about. It was odd how it seemed as if the restaurant stood still, but when Cubby finished telling the man about his upcoming job, I was suddenly aware of the sounds of a restaurant: diners talking, flatware clanging, plates scraping.

I glanced around to see more people seated in the music conservatory than when Cubby began speaking. There was even a beautiful woman at the grand piano playing lovely classical music.

“Ah, here we are, gents. Our best champagne to celebrate your… What the fuck was it?” The server glanced at Mr. Tremblay, who wore a stern expression.

“Georgine, dear, what have we said about that language in the restaurant? Behind the bar, it is acceptable, but we want our customers to enjoy a genteel atmosphere, as if they’re seated in a beautiful French garden enjoying a lovely recital. Crude language won’t set that mood, will it, dear?”

The woman smirked as she filled the three champagne coupes and placed the fancy bottle into a silver ice bucket beside Mr. Tremblay. “Sod off, Etienne.” The woman abruptly turned and stalked off, leaving our host laughing.

“Is, uh, is she related to you as well?” She looked nothing at all like him.

Mr. Tremblay offered a grin. “She’s a stepsister. Our parents married when we were teens.”

Several plates were delivered to the table, and I glanced at each server. They were all smiling as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It was odd that everyone seemed so happy to be working in a restaurant on a sultry New Orleans evening.

The platters were passed among us, and Cubby and I took servings of escargot, duck liver pate, muscles, and several fancy cheeses. Warm French bread was served with creamy butter, and I could have filled up on those dishes alone.

“I hope you’ll both call me Etienne. I was born in Bayeux near Normandy, France. My grandfather fought with the Americans during the Second World War. My family came to the US after the war and settled in New Orleans.”

His comment caught my attention. “Wait, you’re not old enough to have been born in France that long ago, are you?” I was certain I’d heard him right. No way was he that old.

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