Page 48 of High Notes & Hail Marys

To her side, Jamie yelps in delighted feminine solidarity. She and Sandy are seated in the middle section of the U-shaped booth, which is probably an eight-top, but is a tight fit for three professional football players and their dates.

Sterling immediately jumps up and folds Gabi in an embrace, but you can’t help staring at GoGo. Across the booth, he’s looking awfully smug. One long arm is draped across the back of the banquette, and the other is twirling his clean fork. His smirk is enormous. He’s dressed up for the occasion, his blond hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. It’s dark in the restaurant, but you can’t help but notice that his pupils are blown black, and he’s rocking his knee restlessly.

“Where’s the congrats, bro?” He catches your eyes and inclines his chin.

You force yourself to smile. To go around and kiss Gabi’s cheek, to pat GoGo’s shoulder.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” you hear yourself say. “What’s it been? Four months?”

“Three,” Gabi blushes. “But when you know, you know. Right?”

“Huge props,” Sandy enthuses. “Marriage is thebest.Talk about great news!”

“Garçon!” GoGo calls, putting his hands to his mouth like a megaphone. The waiter is there immediately; you guys are, after all, the only patrons in the place. “Let’s get some bubbles in here! A couple bottles of the best you have, por favor.”

“You’re mixing languages,” Gabi says indulgently, leaning into her fiancé.

It occurs to you that’s not the only thing he’s mixing—you’d bet money he’s coked-out—but you merely smile tightly and look at the menu. You’ve already made your mind up, but you want somewhere to look except at Gabi’s breasts, which are threatening to spill out of the tiny mini-dress she’s poured into.

“Aren’t you cold, Gab?” Sterling asks, concerned. Seems like you two are reading each other’s minds tonight. “It’s only about forty-five out. Did you bring a coat?”

She rolls her eyes. “I almost wore something different, but GoGo requested this dress. He bought it for me, you know. Can you imagine that he’s got a shopper on retainer at Neiman Marcus? I’ve never met a guy with such amazing style.”

“Gotta show my baby off,” GoGo simpers, leaning down for a kiss.

Jamie coos at them and gazes at Sandy like,isn’t it the sweetest?

“I let Jamie pick my clothes out,” Sandy shrugs.

The appetizers haven’t even come yet, but you can feel your gorge rising in your gullet like you’ve eaten something rank. It’s not Gabi’s near-nakedness—you can appreciate a beautiful woman as well as anyone else—and it’s not the blatant displays of flamboyant heterosexuality being shoved down your throat. It’s not even the mere fact of GoGo’s proximity, which is always annoying, but normally not noxious. You can’t put your finger on what’s grossing you out so much about the situation, but you know that it’s distinctly unpleasant. You hadn’t particularly wanted to come tonight, but Gabi begged Sterling, and Sterling asked you nicely.

Mantel isn’t your kind of place. It’s expensive for the sake of being expensive, gold-leaf-shards-in-the-cocktails and shaved-truffle-on-everything kinda bougie. They have a caviar flight on the menu, but not a Michelin star to be found. It’s all flash for flash’s sake. Showboat-y.

No wonder GoGo chose it.

You understand why Sterling can’t go out to dinner in a crowded restaurant, but you kind of long for the buffer of other patrons’ laughter and conversations. Some background noise. Thewaitstaff is lingering a little too close, and the gilded wallpaper feels like it’s closing in on you. For the first time in your life, you wish you smoked so that you could excuse yourself for a cig break.

The sommelier brings a pair of chilled bottles and pours six flutes ceremoniously. You all toast to the future Mister and Missus Heller.

“So, Kai!” Gabi starts cheerfully. “Week 14, Monday Night Football. The Horns. What are we thinking?”

GoGo scoffs wetly. “Come the fuck on, babe. I told you it’s not even a question. We’ve lost two games; they’ve lost five. Why are we even having this conversation?” His left arm is around her waist, and he squeezes her as if to punctuate the thought.

She strokes his shoulder fondly. “I know whatyouthink; I want to hear Kai’s opinion.”

“Is mine not good enough?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not. You clear your throat tactfully and decide to answer the question that was asked of you.

“Well, I kind of feel like records aren’t everything at this point,” you say. “The Horns are second in their division and they’ve had a nasty-strong schedule. They’ve got everything to lose and everything to gain in the next month, so they’re gonna come out swinging. They’re riding a three-game winning streak since their bye-week. Andwe’re playing them in Cali. I don’t know. I always want to assume we’re gonna win, but it makes me nervous.”

“That’s kind of a pussy statement,” GoGo announces abruptly.

You look up. “Excuse me?”

“Where’s your confidence, bro? Winners don’t saymaybe.They don’t fuckin’...”

Nobody finds out what else winners don’t do, because you all are saved by the arrival of the apps. You stab a Campari tomato quarter with your fork’s tines harder than strictly necessary, making it explode seedy red guts all over your black shirt. Sterling passes you his napkin, and a reproachful look. There are two waiters on you immediately, offering additional napkins and seltzer to dab at the stain. You wave them away irritably.

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