Anyone would choose love if they had the option.
Jeffrey mentally closed his eyes as those words ran through his mind. His eyelids were like transparent shutters. When he’d had enough of looking out and wanted to stop letting the world in, he would silently draw the shutters fast.
He would have thought pledging to live on in a loveless world for all eternity would be an exercise in solitude. But, he supposed, even in this most loveless of worlds, there was still a person he could take out to dinner.
What was he to make of this new development? Jeffrey wasn’t sure. Was this, what, a salvation of sorts? Or was it merely fodder for the sheep still bound for the slaughterhouse? Was there even a difference between the two?
He returned to his hotel long after he was supposed to. As his secretary preached his schedule for the following day over a phone call, Jeffrey’s mind was elsewhere. In his thoughts, the paper figure was falling, falling, falling…
Jeffrey ran a little behind schedule on the day of his big date. He planned to meet Joachim at the restaurant—a chic move if there ever was one—and proceed from there to their reserved private room. Unfortunately, that plan was a failure from moment one. He just knew Joachim would rail at him for being late, he thought as he raced through the streets in a yellow taxi cab toward New York’s upscale restaurant district. He didn’t want to fight off paparazzi, the necessary consequence of taking Joachim to his true favorite restaurant, so he booked a table at a place his father had frequented back when he still made public appearances as the Earl of Claremont. The restaurant did not lack for presentation, prestige, and price, but the food was middling at best. One of those joints.
The taxi parked under a gold-and-black awning that would have looked right at home in a Parisian café. Well, that was odd—a diner was not being let into the restaurant. A diner with an ash-grey ponytail and skin the color of sweet caramel. Joachim.
As Jeffrey rushed over, he began to make out Joachim’s argument with the maître d’.
“I apologize, sir, but we do not have any open tables this evening.”
“I just said I should have a reservation. Under a last name, spelled C—”
“I’m afraid I cannot seat you.”
“…But my res—”
“Your reservation was given to another party.”
“…You could give us a worse seat…? I wouldn’t mind.”
“Sir, I cannot seat you.”
Jeffrey felt all the heat leech out of his chest. The restaurant maintained a dress code, a policy that was becoming all but a formality as influential upscale restaurants began to accept tourist clientele. However, even in the modernity of the twenty-first century, this restaurant made a firm distinction between who could be allowed in and who most certainly could not.
Joachim noticed Jeffrey before the waiter did. “…Oh!”
Not to beat around the bush, Jeffrey thought, but Joachim might as well have been dressed in trash bags. His black faux-leather jacket looked decades old, and his hot pants weren’t any better. The outer enamel surface of his handbag was as chipped and flaking as the facade on a forty-year-old building. His stockings were as noticeably ripped as if he’d taken a nasty tumble, and water stains dotted his entire outfit.
Jeffrey didn’t ask if Joachim didn’t own any nicer clothes. Joachim was perfectly capable of picking out brilliant outfits, and he had a thorough understanding of what clothes were appropriate for what situation. He would not have chosen these clothes without a purpose.
“…Sorry. I, well, made some poor choices in coming here. There was no time… I tried to let you know, but I couldn’t get a hold of you.”
Joachim’s voice trembled. His face was pale, and there were the beginnings of tears in his eyes. Jeffrey gritted his teeth, then looked up at the sky and shouted loudly and ridiculously enough to be heard across the globe:
“I am so sorry, sir!”
No sooner had he paid the cabbie than he threw himself to the mat covering the sidewalk, pulled a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and began dabbing at the wet patches on Joachim’s clothes. Joachim’s eyes widened. Jeffrey looked up at him and mentally begged him for forgiveness, painfully aware of the curious stares of the restaurant staff upon them.
“What are you—”
“My sincerest apologies, sir. I promise you, that man has no idea what he’s done. I’ll take you to a different restaurant at once. This was my mistake, and I cannot apologize enough.”
The assembled waiters goggled at the stammering mess of a businessman trying to clean up that trashy costume. This was not the sort of thing that happened every day, that was for sure. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeffrey registered some of the waiters fleeing back into the restaurant in alarm. Joachim held his hand over his orange lipstick-painted lips, but when Jeffrey saw the barest hint of a smile, he knew it was safe to throw Joachim a wink.
Three seconds later, Jeffrey was the picture of calm and collected as he stood up and addressed the restaurant’s manager in his neat uniform and stiff collar.
“Good evening, Johnny. It’s been far too long. How’s your old man? Say, I hear you have a full house tonight.”
“…It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Claremont. May I have a brief word with you?”
“No, no, don’t trouble yourself. We were just leaving. Off to Eleven Madison Park, you know.”
“We’ve had a sudden cancellation, so we could offer you a private room—”
“Hmm? A whole private room? That’s funny. I was told you were so busy you’re giving reservations away.”
“Not quite, sir. It appears that was an error on our end.”
“An error! Of all the things. What are the odds, an error at one of the most world-famous restaurants in New York City? With luck like this, I ought to go out and buy a lotto ticket. Who knows? I could win a billion dollars.”
“With all due respect, sir, I fear your chances may be even slimmer in the lottery. Nevertheless, I promise that my staff will make every effort to ensure this mistake never happens again. Might I offer you tonight’s meal on the house?”
The manager bowed deeply, Japanese style, and Jeffrey shot his partner-in-crime a pointed look. He sighed in exasperation—took them long enough to realize just who they’re snubbing—and Joachim laid a gentle hand on Jeffrey’s sleeve.
“Don’t give them too hard a time, hon. It’s all right.”
“It’s really not. They have no idea just how important you are.”
“Well, how were they supposed to know?”
Casually resting his weight on his back leg and leaning back, Joachim radiated the aura of a multimillionaire dressed head to toe in vintage Chanel. As Jeffrey internally applauded the smooth recovery of this star actor, he forced himself to look serious and whispered into Joachim’s ear—loud enough, still, for the manager to hear.
“Are you sure you want to stay here? I have no problem changing the itinerary. Although…it may be best to take a private room after all. To discuss the you-know-what.”
“The Arabian oil field you-know-what?”
“Yes, but also what we talked about at the Ritz—”
“Shh, hon. People are listening.”
“Forgive me. Eleven Madison Park wouldn’t be a bad choice, either. It’s just, well… I worry you’ll be bored if I take you to another three-star Michelin restaurant.”
“Time is money, so I say we stay here. Come on. Let’s go in.”
Jeffrey offered Joachim his arm, which Joachim accepted. The manager placed a hand on his chest and swept into a deep bow once more.
The couple were led to a private room with white walls and a black interior, and the moment the heavy door was closed seamlessly behind them, Joachim exploded with laughter and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“Oh, Jeffy! You are one of a kind.”