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Time to move on.
The lobby was bright and festive, garlands hung along the walls, a large, stone fireplace roaring and inviting. “What Child is This?” gave way to Dean Martin, and he thought maybe he could breathe clearly again. A Christmas tree blinked in the corner. A wreath of pine and ribbons and holly hung over the entrance to the restaurant. He tried to think if they’d ever been here during the holidays before, sure there must have been sometime they’d gone on one of their staycations, just for a couple of days, just you and me, David, doesn’t that sound nice? But he didn’t think they’d had. It’d been harder to get away during the holidays. They’d both had obligations that couldn’t be ignored. Not like when they were younger. Maybe it hadn’t always been easy, but they’d managed.
Hadn’t they?
There was a hostess at the entrance, a pretty young thing who probably hadn’t even known life outside her parents’ house yet. Maybe she’d be graduating this year. Looking forward to college next year. George Washington University? Somewhere on the other side of the country so she could stretch her wings, Dad, I know GWU is a good school, but so is UCLA, and you know I’ve always
wanted to go to California. You know this, Daddy.
Yeah. It seemed like that’s how she was. This little hostess.
“Hi,” she said. “Welcome to Ubi Sunt. Table for one?”
“No,” he said, trying not to stumble over his words. He never used to be like this. “There’s a reservation. I… I’m a little early. I’d like to sit at the bar.”
“Name for the reservation?” she asked, blonde curls around her face.
“Um. Phillip? It’s… Phillip Greengrass.”
She frowned as she looked down at the tablet in front of her, tracing her finger across the screen. “Greengrass…,” she said. “Greengrass.”
Maybe it wasn’t there.
Maybe there wasn’t a reservation.
Maybe he wasn’t coming at all.
Or maybe, a little voice whispered in the back of the mind, that’s not the right name.
“Greengrass,” she said again.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm. Oh! Here it is. My apologies. I must have skipped right over it.” She looked up at him and smiled. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It’s been one of those nights, you know?”
His heart pounded furiously in his chest. “I know.”
“Are you sure you want to sit at the bar? I can get your table if you want. We’re not too busy tonight, so there’d be no wait.”
That… didn’t sound like what he wanted. Tables were intimate, especially the ones they’d had here in the past, where they’d be tucked off in a corner, out of sight from everyone. It had been exciting, doing something they shouldn’t, holding hands underneath the table, Phillip’s thumb rubbing over the jittery pulse in David’s wrist, the tablecloth hiding them so they wouldn’t be caught. Especially at the beginning, because in those days, they were just two men, out on the town for a night, isn’t that right, buddy? Phillip would always have a devilish smirk on his face as he said that, buddy rolling off his tongue like it was a sinful thing. And yeah, David would say, that’s right, but his would come out like a croak, his throat dry, skin hot.
“Sir?”
He coughed. Shook his head. Said, “No. The bar is fine for now. Thank you.” The bar wasn’t as private as a table. You couldn’t hide your hands. The bartender was always moving back and forth. You weren’t ever really alone.
Wasn’t that right, buddy?
“Right this way.”
As if he didn’t know the way to the bar.
He let her lead the way. It was easier.
There were others at the bar, a couple at the end leaning close and whispering to each other, martini glasses set in front of them and forgotten. The man brushed a lock of hair out of the woman’s face and she kept whispering, as if used to the action by now.
There were two others, a man staring up at the silent TV near the edge of the bar, watching highlights from a basketball game.
A woman sat near him, speaking quietly into a cell phone, fingers drumming on the surface of the bar.
