Page 41 of Everything We Thought Was True
Frank must have been staring, because Ricky gave him a sly smile and then turned away, looking back down at the tray. That smile told Frank everything he wanted to know—Ricky liked how Frank was staring and was interested too.
Frank wanted him—instantly.
But he’d made a promise, to Teresa and himself, that he wouldn’t have another affair. And for the past four years, Frank had stayed true to that promise. He’d tried to make things work with Teresa, dancing around the truth, the two of them not asking or telling each other too much in order to keep the peace, even having sex occasionally. He and Teresa were living in a ceasefire, a sort of limbo where they weren’t miserable but also weren’t truly happy.
Ricky left the front counter and went back to the kitchen, out of sight. Frank put in his order then sipped his tea and ate his pastry at one of the café tables, hoping to get another glimpse of Ricky. But it wasn’t his lucky day. Or maybe it was, given that this was one of the first times Frank had seriously felt himself weak not only in the knees but also in his resolve to stay loyal to his marriage.
As much as Frank had missed Henry since their breakup, he felt relieved that there were no dalliances to hide or secrets to keep track of. Plus, the AIDS crisis had hit the gay community with a vengeance, adding yet another reason for Frank to not stray outside the safety of his marriage. Frank swore off gay bars, not wanting to take the chance of meeting someone. He hunkered down at work at the Cadillac dealership and the boat club and tried not to go out in the evenings and on weekends to the Village or any other places that might tempt him. What he didn’t expect was that the local bakery would be a temptation.
Frank tried to put the exchange out of his mind over the ensuing week but obsessed over different scenarios in which he approached Ricky and asked him out. He stopped by the bakery more often over the next few weeks, hoping to catch Ricky out front, filling the cases. When he did, there were always other customers around. He had to be careful about how he approached Ricky. Frank was still a married man. Eventually, he got his chance early one Friday morning, about a month later, when he walked in and saw Ricky out front again, filling the cases, with no one else in the bakery. Frank leaned over the counter and tried to keep his voice low.
“Hello there. It’s good to see you. Every time I come in, this place is so busy. I never have the chance to say hi.”
Ricky looked up, a small smile playing on his lips. “To me?” heasked coyly.
Frank pointed at him. “Yeah, you. Who else do you think I mean?” He gave a small laugh.
Ricky looked around then back at Frank. “I know you meant me.” He giggled.
Frank loved the sound of it. He also loved Ricky’s Spanish accent and wondered where he was from originally. He wanted to know everything about the man.
“Hey, what’re you doing tomorrow night?” Frank asked.
Ricky shrugged, putting more pastries in the case. “Depends on what you want to do.” He looked back up at Frank and batted his eyelashes.
Frank moved in closer, leaning on the counter. “Whatever you want,” he whispered.
Ricky clucked his tongue. “Well, then, I may just have to say yes.”
“You’d better. How about I pick you up at eight? Here, write your address.” He gestured to the notepad for taking orders, on the counter.
Ricky grabbed a pen from his pocket and scribbled down his address and phone number. He ripped the top sheet off and handed it to Frank. “Don’t be late, okay?”
Frank laughed. “No, never.”
“What do I wear?” Ricky asked, hands on his hips.
Frank raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side, eyeing Ricky. “You look great in a chef’s jacket and hat, so I can only imagine how good you’ll look in regular clothes.”
Ricky swatted his hand at Frank. “Of course I’ll wear regular clothes. But I need to have an idea what I’m dressing for, okay? Oh, and the name of the person I’m going out with.”
“The name’s Frank. And we’re going to the Village. Dinner first. Then maybe a club.”
Ricky’s eyes widened. “Ooh, maybe some dancing?”
“Do you like to dance?”Please let him be a fabulous dancer.
“Oh yes, I love to dance. These Puerto Rican hips can move, baby. Wait until you see.” Ricky shook his hips slightly for effect.
Puerto Rico. So that’s where he’s from. Frank had never been there, and his mind conjured up swaying palm trees on beaches with Spanish music playing in the background and Ricky dancing on the beach.
“I’m looking forward to it—trust me,” Frank said, feeling his stomach lurch excitedly.
“Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow night at eight o’clock sharp.”
“See you then.” Frank tapped the counter and turned to leave.
“Oh, and, Frank?” Ricky called.
