Chapter 2: Chapter 2
“Which one of us do you think he has the hots for?” Philip said after the waiter had brought our entrées.
“That’s hard to tell. Maybe he wants us both.”
“Hmm, it’s been a long time since I participated in a ménage à trois.”
His smile told me that he was kidding, but I couldn’t resist saying, “Control yourself, please. I’m not at all certain that I’m up to that.”
“Relax. I’m only joking.”
Any rejoinder I might have made was interrupted by music. We hadn’t been paying attention, but we looked around and saw that a young man was now seated at the piano playing a medley of songs from the fifties or sixties, but I wasn’t sure which. We ate in silence, listening to the music, which continued until we’d finished our entrées and had ordered dessert and coffee. The musician stopped playing and walked over to the bar to take a break, but by the time we’d finished our coffee he was back at the piano, this time playing music of a more recent vintage.
The waiter brought the check, and I gave him a credit card. He carried the card and our check back to his station, but quickly returned and handed me the card. Then he said, “Are you the guys from Atlanta that were on the news, Mr. Barnett?”
“Yes, we are,” I said. “Why?”
“And your name is d’Autremont, isn’t it?” he said, directing his attention to Philip.
“It is,” Philip said.
“I thought I recognized you from the evening news last Tuesday.”
I chuckled at that, and the waiter said, “What’s so funny?”
“We thought you were cruising us.”
This caused him to laugh in turn. “Honey,” he said, affecting an exaggerated accent, “ah nevah cruise when ah’m on duty.” Dropping the accent, he continued, “I thought I recognized you and kept looking just to be sure.”
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, where’s the charge slip for me to sign?”
“There won’t be one. Your meal is on the house, compliments of the management.” Having spoken his piece, he walked quickly over to the piano player and whispered something in his ear.
The pianist stopped what he was playing and performed a little fanfare on the keyboard. When he’d gotten the attention of his audience, he picked up a microphone and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve just been informed that we have a couple of celebrities in the house tonight. Seated near the back of the room between the last pair of arches are the two men from Atlanta who were responsible for the downfall of one of this country’s most notorious homophobes, none other than the allegedly Rev. I. M. Foible, aka I’m Full of Bull. Please put your hands together for Charles Barnett and Philip d’Autremont.”
It was simultaneously embarrassing and exciting when everyone in the restaurant stood up and clapped. When the room had quieted down, the entertainer came over to our table carrying a cordless microphone. He introduced himself as “John Barry—no relation to the well-known composer of film scores,” and proceeded to conduct an impromptu interview with Philip and me, to the evident delight of the other diners. After he’d gone back to his piano and commenced playing again, the manager came over to our table and introduced himself.
We thanked him for the meal, complimented him on both the food and the service, and chatted for a while before he returned to his duties. As soon as he left our table, several other diners stopped by to talk to us. Two of them, a couple who appeared to be in their late thirties, invited us to have drinks at their home on Nob Hill late Sunday afternoon, saying that there would be a gathering of thirty or so people there, all of whom would be pleased to meet us. I looked at Philip and caught his nod of agreement before accepting the invitation.
Sunday morning after our run, we went to services at Grace Cathedral. Before walking back to the hotel, we reconnoitered the area and discovered that the address we’d been given the night before was a high-rise apartment building. Back in our room, we changed into casual attire, then took the cable car to Ghirardelli Square and had lunch at a nearby restaurant.
We arrived at the apartment building around four thirty and were directed by the doorman to a penthouse apartment. Before I rang the bell, I said, “Remember, if this turns out to be a room full of screaming queens, I’m going to complain of a little migraine early on.”
“You won’t have to, because I’ll beat you to it,” he said.
As it turned out, my fears were proven groundless. Most of the thirty or so people who came and went over the course of the next two hours were doctors, lawyers, and professional men in the thirty- to fiftysomething age group, with a few accountants and middle-level management types mixed in. To our surprise, we were introduced to everyone as the guests of honor, and equally surprising was the fact that I managed to enjoy myself. Robert, my late partner, and I had both attended and given many cocktail parties over the years, and I’d continued to receive invitations after his death. I even went to a few of them, but it was never the same. After that, I issued so many ‘regrets’ that people eventually stopped asking me. The difference, of course, was Philip. He and I were becoming, just as Robert and I had been, two halves of the same whole.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone