TABLE FOR THREE
Note: This story was part of a reading at Toronto's "The Red Spot" Winter, 1999.

"Once again, his billowing shirt and long hours of rehearsal in front of the mirror saved him from stingy tips and angry asides."

for Dexter

"I love you Garvin." 

David felt his heart rush with excitement but also tasted bitter remembrance as he overheard the older of the two men at table eighteen.  He positioned himself closer for the response but not so near as to interrupt the flow—or worse—be sent away to quench lovestruck's thirst.  His intended, black, tall and attentive sipped only water. 

"Tim, gosh, I'm flattered.  I mean it's not entirely unexpected.  Of course, I know we've meant a lot to each other after the-" 

"—Twelve nights" 

"Was it twelve?" his eyes fluttered. The heat of his invisible blush could have melted ice.  "Maybe I will have a drink after all." 

"To celebrate?  Are you happy?  Are you OK?" 

"Fine.  Yes, I'm fine.  Ah, there's our waiter behind you." 

Tim twisted around and smiled broadly at David. 

"My friend will have a glass of your finest house white and I'll try another martini-can't really pass judgment from just one!" 

Wanting to hear all, David turned to a nearby table and reorganized its few condiments for the third time in the last 15 minutes.  

Tim got up and began making his way to the washroom-his first trip of many.  David saw his chance to place their order but noticed Garvin dial up a number on his cell phone as soon as Tim was safely out of earshot.  Suddenly, the salt shaker needed more dusting.   

"It's me ... Good ... Look, he's finally said it ... You got it—the L-word-right here in the Bistro. No, well, at least I don't think so; it's not too crowded . Of course not—I haven't really said anything.  This is 'way too soon—this wasn't supposed to happen 'til New Year's—now the schedule's all buggered up ...  How did you guess?  As usual, I pretended not to have kept track ... Actually, it's thirteen, nine months and six days since our last.  I can still feel his—oh, sorry:  too much information.  Gotta go, he's coming back ... Nope-only his first.  Don't know how he lasted this long!  Must be the excitement!  But who could blame him.  Gotta go—call you later." 

David abandoned his imaginary dirt and dashed to the bar.  He gave the bartender his best maybe-I-will-see-you-later smile, which, much to the chagrin of his co-workers, successfully moved his order ahead of theirs.  He returned just in time.  Tim had the floor. 

"... exactly.  And when I discovered my housecoat hanging in a place where I never leave it, that was that.  Desmond and I were finished—that bastard!" 

"Oh come on Tim.  You never had anything in common with him anyway.  I just don't understand why it took you so long.  Sorry, but it has to be said.  When did you move here?   Four months ago-and you made the same mistake with Mr. Sri Lanka, what, two months ago?  Maybe you should consider dating someone your own colour?" 

"Now wait a minute!  Just because I bring new meaning to 'exploring the Pacific Rim'—"  David couldn't help laughing and nearly dropped his tray.  But his shrieks went unnoticed by his customers whose howls scared some of the other patrons.  Tim's martini arrived well shaken. 

The customers at David's other tables were getting restless.  But, he quickly converted their annoyed stares and sarcastic tones to admiring smiles and compliments by favouring them with a brief view of his chest.  Once again, his billowing shirt and long hours of rehearsal in front of the mirror saved him from stingy tips and angry asides.  Those still upset with the slow service received the added bonus of a warm hand on the shoulder and a conspiratorial nudge.  Beaming with hope, they went back to their shallow conversations.  Menus in hand, David returned to Garvin and Tim. 

Garvin's face became delightfully animated when he spoke.  His thick dark lips expelled the consonants with gusto.  They were ably assisted by glistening, pure-white teeth, which admirably framed his saucily darting tongue.  The vowels resonated beautifully from the recesses of a mouth that promised far more delights than carefully sculpted words.   

"I can't answer you right now.  I need to reflect.  In time, I'll tell you how I feel.  I, I just can't react tonight, ah here.  I know you'll understand." 

David did.  He'd confessed his love, once—huge mistake.  Finding a misplaced robe was nothing compared to stumbling on his lover in bed with another.  As he awaited their choices, David took pity on Tim by leaning forward and allowing him a long, full view of, arguably, the finest pec in the Western Hemisphere.    

Tim couldn't decide, so Garvin ordered for both.  David was forced to exit again. 

On his way back from the kitchen, David saw Tim at the payphone.  Oblivious to David, he glanced frequently to the front of the restaurant where Garvin's closely shorn head was just visible.  Eager to add a new chapter to this couple's story, David picked up the adjacent phone, deposited a quarter and punched in his own number.  Soon he was "talking" to himself while trying to overhear the voice beside him. 

"... running a bit late.  I feel so much better now that I've said it ... Of course he doesn't—he won't say a thing now; has to 'reflect'-typical!  No.  Doesn't even remember how many—Oops, right.  Sorry.  It's just ... I'll try not to mention that again.  When will we be able to start counting?" 

David nearly dropped the phone.  Perhaps Desmond had had good reason to stray! 

"He even suggested I go back to white guys—I mean, obviously, he's not interested.  It's over ... You told me to purge my demons so I'm exorcising my rights!  You insisted that I do this so there'd be just the two of us when we make ... Oh? ... Me too.  In fact, I could barely stand up as I came back to call you ."  (David blushed with pride.)  "OK.  See you soon—don't forget to shop for breakfast!" laughed Tim as he broke the connection and worked his way back to Garvin. 

David hung up on himself.  Those two deserved each other.  Wasn't anyone faithful anymore?  

Later, Garvin tried to pay but his card was declined.  David drolly asked whether Garvin had, perhaps, been 'doing a wee bit too much Christmas shopping?'  Tim chuckled but Garvin glared. 

Sure that Tim's credit would be fine, David decided another showing was in order, but this time his motive was strictly cash.  Hands behind his back, he stood across from Tim, bent full at the waist then looked up, allowing Tim an unobstructed view from neck to navel. 

"Will there be anything else?" 

Tim flushed and nearly dropped the pen.  Garvin got their coats. 

Peering discreetly through the window, David watched them leave together, kiss each other lightly, turn and go their separate ways.  Once out of sight, David tore up Tim's business card, which he'd found underneath the credit slip.  The home number had been written on the back with the same pen that had added 30% to the total.  David was pleased with the tip, but the thought of sleeping with a man who confessed his love to one while having 'Plan B' in the wings revolted him.  He could never do that.  He fluffed up his shirt and went back to work.