Page 20 of Romeo vs Romeo

“I’m on top of it, Mama Viv,” Bradley said. “Just waiting for Zain to bring some extra garnish so we don’t run out.”

“What do you think kept him so long?” I wondered aloud.

“Work,” Bradley said simply. “I think they’re in high demand right now because of the holiday.”

“What holiday?” Tristan asked.

“I think it’s the Prophet’s birthday,” Bradley said, his face apologetic for not offering anything more. “Anyway, I’ve seen Zain delivering groceries everywhere on top of his family helping the poor. It’s part of the tradition. In the worst case, someone will have to pop over there and bring what I need.”

“I can do that,” Tristan offered predictably.

We chatted about this and that for a while longer. Then I remembered a delivery from the morning shift. “Oh, Mama Viv, there’s some mail for you under the bar.”

Her confusion matched what I had felt this morning when a courier delivered the envelope. Bills came through electronically here, and the only mail Mama Viv received were holiday postcards from former patrons who moved away.

Bradley found the envelope under the bar and examined it. “This looks official.”

Mama Viv took it, her hand trembling only slightly. She tore it open and pulled out a quality stock paper it contained.

I watched as Mama Viv’s gaze darted across the paper, her expression morphing from confused to enraged to frightened. “Impossible. This is impossible.” Her voice dropped by an octave. “They can’t do this. This is outrageous.”

An air of urgency settled around us. We all leaned toward Mama Viv, who stood and paced, reading the letter again. It was clear that anxiety and anger wouldn’t let her sit still, but her pacing did little to calm her. “What is it?” I demanded.

“This cannot be happening,” Mama Viv said.

“What? What can’t be happening?” I asked, my chest tightening with worry.

Huffing, Mama Viv held the letter in both trembling hands. “Can they do this?” The plea in her voice was heartbreaking, her eyes welling with frightened tears. She looked around helplessly at her bar. With her lips curving down in a devastating expression of loss and defeat, Mama Viv let the letter fall from her hands. “Excuse me,” she whispered, turning away and all but running into the back, where a hallway and a staircase led to her apartment above.

I was the first to leap at the letter.

And hot rage blinded me.

Everett

Father didn’t ask where I was going. He told me to have a good time and be smart. Mother was meeting her book club at Barbara’s house. That fact alone was enough to make me want to run away from this evening’s potential lecture. I didn’t want to hear how Joseph and Anita showed up with a box of cupcakes for everyone. I didn’t want to hear how Joseph Burton rescued a puppy and let the whole book club pet him. I didn’t want to be reminded of how jealous my mother was of Barbara for having such an outstanding son.

That wasn’t the sole reason I went out. It was Friday night, and Neon Nights was throwing a party. Roman would be there, no doubt. Roman, and his sexy arms, and his sinful lips, and his filthy mind. Roman, with all his fury and righteousness.

It was already well past nine by the time I got to Neon Nights. There was a crowd inside, dancing to the ’70s hits, but I didn’t recognize anyone there. As I entered, I remembered how Roman had brought me there after our failed attempt at his place. He had wanted me to meet his friends, but we had never gotten around to that. We danced our hearts out and walked out by ourselves. I only met Mama Viv that night.

I ordered a beer from a familiar bartender, although I didn’t know him beyond the fact that Roman had once called him Bradley.

As I stood by the bar, I fought against the oncoming disappointment. I had been hoping to see Roman. Somehow, in the depths of my mind, I had expected him to be here by the time I arrived. I had hoped he would spot me right away, that the crowd would part for us, and that he would surrender himselffully to me. That was where my daydreaming stopped because, in truth, I didn’t know what to do with him after that. I was torn between wanting to learn from him as a friend and having him in the filthiest, most soul-damning ways I could imagine.

“Hey,” the bartender said after pouring a draft to a girl with green, pink, and purple hair.

I lifted my head in reply.

“You’re Roman’s friend, right?” he asked, leaning toward me.

“Yeah,” I replied loudly. “Is he around?”

“You looking for him?”

I shrugged as if it was all the same to me.

“We had some bad news today. I don’t know when he’ll come down.” The bartender swiftly turned away from me to serve a young man whose denim jacket was covered with pins; each I made out depicted a crude image of gay sex with intentionally poorly drawn figures.

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