Page 118 of Oddly Fine

“He’s on the phone. He doesn’t look happy,” Hayes responded.

Beckett didn’t have eyes on their mark. Unfortunately, while their table had offered a great view of the entrance, John sat behind him, meaning Beckett had to do a complete 180 to see him. Hayes, on the other hand, was facing John and could easily monitor his actions.

“Does he look angry? Or worried?” Beckett asked.

Hayes paused for a thorough assessment of John before he answered.

“Worried. Stressed even. He’s nodding a lot,” Hayes said. Then a few seconds later— “Damn, he just flagged down a waiter—I think he’s asking for the bill,” Hayes murmured.

“If you’re swearing, then it’s bad,” he joked, then tapped his earpiece to alert Adeline and Matthew. “How’s it looking? John might be on the move soon.”

“It’s looking like a DIY project straight from hell’s giftshop,” Adeline said through clenched teeth, concentrating fiercely on her task.

“You need more time—” Beckett surmised.

“At least an hour,” she said.

“I can get you half an hour,” he replied. Anything more than that would really be pushing the limit of how much they could delay this guy’s departure. The walk from the restaurant to his condo took about five minutes, leaving Beckett with 25 minutes to fill.

“I’m gonna start calling you Gerald,” she muttered, displeased.

“Why?” Beckett said, as he gestured for Hayes to stay put as he got up from his seat.

“’Cause that’s all I got out of my ex-husband as well—”

And Beckett bit back his laughter as best he could, but it was tough.

“Look busy with your phone,” he told Hayes.

“What are you going to do?” Hayes asked worriedly.

Beckett didn’t bother with a reply. Just shot him a smile that said he’d find out soon enough.

John was sitting at his table, drumming his fingers impatiently while waiting for his bill, as Beckett sat down in the seat right in front of him.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed as he looked up in surprise.

“Hi,” Beckett greeted him with a sweet, self-conscious smile. “Do me a favour, act like you know me?” he asked sheepishly and batted his eyelashes at John.

John stared at him curiously, but played along, pasting on a smile.

“Listen, this is—” Beckett broke off, shaking his head. “It’s insane, okay, but—” he sighed, taking as much time as possible without getting on the man’s last nerve. “So, here’s the thing—I’m going to propose to my boyfriend tonight,” he confessed, doing his best to appear emotional and shaky with nerves.

John took a little longer than normal to respond. Still confused, he looked around, obviously searching for his boyfriend, and then said, “Uh—congratulations?” He looked totally confused.

“Right, yes, thank you!” Beckett said, leaning forward to give the impression of confessing a secret. “The thing is—see, my boyfriend and I are from the US. We’re here on business, and I really wanted to get a video of the proposal that we could show to our families later,” he explained, looking over his shoulder towards Hayes so John would get a sense of who he was talking about. It seemed to work because John glanced over at Hayes and he nodded. Before he could say anything, Beckett carried on. “Thing is, our families are like—crazy conservative,” he said with a quick flutter of his hands in a feminine gesture of frustration. He was a self-professed drama queen on any given day, but his mannerisms were more dramatic than they were feminine. He decided to put on a bit of a show to further convince John of his extreme emotional distress. “So, right now, they’re not really, like—involved in our lives, but I think—well, I hope they’re coming around, you know? And when they do, I’d reallllllyyyy like to have a video to show them, you know?” He paused then, waiting for John to answer.

It took John a moment to realise it wasn’t a rhetorical question and he nodded.

“Eh—sure.”

“Right, so—the thing is, you,” he waved his index finger right at John, “yes, you, have the best seat in the house to film it!”

Suddenly, it seemed to dawn on John what Beckett was asking him to do. He visibly blanched and abruptly drew back from Beckett’s finger.

“No,” he shook his head vigorously. “No, listen, I’m sorry but—I have to run,” he said, pointing towards the entrance. “I’m waiting for my check, and then—”

“Oh, well—” Beckett sighed, turning his face aside, looking distraught. “I knew this city was more homophobic than advertised!” he declared, raising his voice just enough that a few patrons turned towards their table and stared at them with open curiosity.