Chapter Eight
Even though it wasn’t actually a date, Vince was determined to get everything right.
He went to the address Kyle had given him with the tickets. As it turned out, Kyle was in, and the man welcomed him with a smile and urged him to have a seat in his office.
“I can’t stay long,” Vince warned. “I just wondered if you had seats available for a show tonight, unless it’s too short of notice.”
“Oh yes! Absolutely. Some nice ones off center left.” He smiled as he scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Just take this to the box office and they’ll give you what you need. Have you seen Icarus before, or will this be your first time?”
Vince hadn’t even known what the play was. He realized he should have asked about that. “Uh, no. Is it—?” He cut himself off from saying “good” at the last second. “Does it have a happy ending?”
Kyle looked thoughtful. “Difficult question. I don’t know that I’d call it a tragedy, but there aren’t rainbows and puppies at the end, either. A good discussion piece for after, is how I’d describe it.” He gave Vince a sly look. “Good date piece, in other words.”
There was absolutely no reason to blush, which was why it annoyed Vince that he did. “Well, I don’t know that it’s a date.”
“Ah, one of those,” Kyle said wryly. “I remember the days.” He passed the paper over. “Best of luck to you. I hope the show helps push you over the mark into a romantic kiss on the doorstep after, at the very least.”
Vince nodded and tried to murmur his thanks, but it probably sounded like little more than a grunt to Kyle. Hurrying out of the office, he hit the box office, got the tickets and went back home to look for dinner reservations.
His choices around Theater Wit, where the production was held, were an American restaurant, an Italian place and Flat Top, a make-your-own-stir-fry place. Italian was obviously out unless he wanted to face a herd of outraged family, but he still couldn’t decide between the other two. The American place sounded too boring, but what if Trey didn’t want stir-fry? What if it only sounded okay and actually wasn’t?
Well, it wouldn’t matter then, would it, because this isn’t a date.
In the end he decided to forget the whole thing and searched Urbanspoon for something entirely different. He settled on Tango Sur, an Argentine BYOB steakhouse. He knew Trey ate meat, because he’d seen him do it.
Breathing a little easier after having made a reservation, Vince got on with the rest of his preparations.
The only other hiccups came when he tried to get dressed and when he fumbled over transportation. There wasn’t much to do about his clothes; he only had three suits, and he looked like a frumpy old man in all of them. He didn’t think anything else he had would be dressy enough. Though maybe he shouldn’t dress up too much. What if he wore a suit and Trey was in jeans?
As for the other, he’d told Trey he’d pick him up at six—but in what? A cab? With an EL ticket? Usually on dates he got his car out of storage and drove, but would that be too date-like?
Why the hell was this so hard? It was supposed to be women who were difficult. Who knew not-dating a man would be even worse?
In the end he became paralyzed by indecision on both counts and called Rachel. Which meant he had to confess about Trey before he explained what help he needed.
It was both more difficult and easier than he’d thought.
“So Trey Giles is gay? I always wondered. Funny, he’s never brought a date by the restaurant. Because you know we’d have heard about it. Oh—you don’t think he thinks we’re all homophobic, do you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he dates much. Which is why I want to get this right. Even though it isn’t actually a date,” he added quickly.
“You should date him. Trey is a sweetheart. Just don’t be a dick to him.”
“Rachel,” Vince said in warning.
“Yes, yes. I’ll be right over.”
Vince glanced at his watch. “Rach, it’s almost five now.”
“Like I said, I’ll be right over.”
She hung up, and Vince spent a frantic twenty minutes driving himself crazy. When the door opened and Rachel swept in, he almost pounced on her before she could even get her key out of the lock.
“Relax,” she told him, taking his shoulders and turning him around to aim him at his bedroom. “Show me what we’re working with.”
Rachel ended up putting him in a pair of suit pants but with a dark plum-colored shirt with iridescent silver pinstripes she dug out of the back of his closet. He tried to shoot it down, because it had always felt too flashy to him, but Rachel insisted.
“You’re gay now, big brother. You can be a little flashy.”
“I am not gay.”
“Right. You’re just making yourself a nervous wreck over a night out with a man. Completely different story.”
Vince ran a hand over his face. “Shit. Maybe this is a mistake.”
Rachel pushed his hand away and cupped his chin. “Stop. Stop this right now. You’re either going on this date or you aren’t. Stop worrying about your machismo cred. Fierro boys, gay or straight, don’t stand up dates. Or not-dates. You told Trey you’d be there at six; you’re going to be there at six.” She looked him up and down and smiled appreciatively. “And you’ll probably make him melt into a puddle, which is as it should be.”
Vince turned to the mirror, braced for the worst, but to his surprise he found that he actually looked pretty damn good. Except…he fussed with his collar. “I need a necklace or something, though, don’t you think?” He rooted around on his dresser for a gold chain.
Rachel laughed. “Yes, Italian boy. Add a single red rose and you’ll probably get laid for sure.”
“No.” Vince put the chain he’d found back down, unsure now. “That’s the deal. Trey doesn’t do that.”
“What, get laid?” When Vince simply stared at her, Rachel’s eyes widened, and then they softened. “Oh, Vinnie.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re such a good boy, you know that? I hope it does work out with Trey. I hope this evens everything out for you, that it really is your magic bullet. I’d love to see you happy.” She patted his shoulder. “Now put on your gold chain. Even if it does scream Hot Italian Sex Machine, there’s no harm in making Trey desperate.”
“You’re vicious,” Vince said, watching his reflection in the mirror as he reached around to fasten the chain.
“Yes.” Rachel took the clasp from his hands, finished it, then dusted him off. “Go get on the EL, walk up to his door and ask him if he wants a cab or a train. Traffic in the Loop will be hell at this hour, so you might as well not even try to drive both ways.”
That was a good plan. Vince took a deep breath, let it out and squared his shoulders.
“Okay?” Rachel asked.
“Okay,” Vince agreed.