8. CANADA 20th Century #3
Marshall turned around and saw a gorgeous young Italian man with thick, black hair and sun-kissed skin smiling at him; his glass was lifted in the air as if to toast. Marshall could not help but notice that the guy was at least ten years younger than he was.
He was intrigued by the way the young man looked at him, with such interest and intent, as if he wanted nothing more than to make his acquaintance.
There was nothing creepy or lecherous about the man’s gaze; he was simply too young and clean-cut for any of that nonsense in Marshall’s thinking.
Lifting his cocktail in the air and nodding, the Englishman mouthed a thank you. He smiled as widely and as friendly as he could without looking crazy. He believed wholeheartedly that this was no friendly gesture in sending him the Negroni; it was a pickup.
There’s something oddly familiar about him. He’s so handsome—and maybe too young for me? What would he want with a red-headed, freckled thirty-four-year-old, anyway?
“Go over, man,” the bartender encouraged. “Or if you chicken out, I’ll pop over and see if he’s available after my shift is done.”
“Beat it, queen, he’s mine,” Marshall retorted in good fun.
The two men laughed conspiratorially, not wanting to arouse too much attention from the other bar patrons who might not be so friendly toward queers, especially boisterous ones. This was Québec City, after all, not Paris.
After taking a big swig of the free drink for some liquid courage, Marshall carried the now half-empty glass with him as he sauntered over to the table where the young man sat alone.
This is not a date or a pickup. I’m just going over to be friendly.
As he got closer, Marshall found himself becoming more and more physically attracted to the younger, dark-haired stranger. Then, when he was nearly at the table, he saw the man move his lips and say something, but it was so low in volume that he could not make it out.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Marshall asked.
“I said, ‘Scire me! Nosce te ipsum!’ It’s a Latin phrase. It’s a welcome to a stranger who is soon to be a friend—and I hope more.”
Suddenly, a strange euphoria washed over the Englishman; it was a pleasant yet powerful sensation, and he swooned, dropping his drink.
The Romani witch caught the drink psychically with his will, bringing it to the table without a drop spilled. Thankfully, no one had noticed his use of an invisible power they would not understand to prevent a mess, not even Marshall, who was too busy trying to regain his composure.
This strong reaction from him is a good sign!
A thousand times better than the frustrating failure in Madrid so long ago.
No, stop thinking about that. This is a new life, a new chance.
Release your past, man. By Hecate, he looks like he certainly has.
The way he stares at me! How much does his heart remember? Come back to me, Aeneas.
“You look like a man in need of a chair,” the Romani witch chuckled, silently hoping his spell had worked the way he wanted it to. “Please, join me.”
“Thank you,” Marshall replied, still a little disoriented. “I don’t know what that was all about. I felt weird for a second there. Buddy must have made this drink with quite a kick! And it’s crazy, but this is my favourite cocktail!”
I know. The Romani witch had observed the Englishman from a distance the night before, carefully studying him as he followed him from the lobby to the dining room and then to the bar lounge.
As always, he wanted to avoid reading his thoughts without permission.
After several hours of watching Marshall, he had gathered enough information to devise a plan for introducing himself the following day.
And his plan was working.
“Lucky guess?” the Romani witch chuckled. “Actually, I think a Negroni should be everyone’s favourite.”
Sitting down, Marshall shook hands with the Romani witch, and the two men introduced themselves.
“That’s an interesting name,” Marshall commented with genuine curiosity. “I assume it’s Italian? A family name?”
“Yes, it’s Italian. I’m Romani. It’s the only name I will ever answer to.”
That’s an odd thing to say. “Oh, okay, well, it’s nice to meet you, and thanks again for the drink. Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Both,” the Romani witch replied with a warm smile. “You could say they are intertwined.”
“You know, you look familiar, like we’ve met before,” Marshall stated with conviction.
“Are you sure we haven’t met before? I feel like I’m sitting down with an old friend, like I’ve known you forever.
That’s a little much, right? Wow—this drink!
I never knew myself to be such a lightweight.
Sorry if I’m coming off a little kooky. I promise I’m not crazy. ”
Both men laughed like they were old chums.
“Oh, I enjoy a bit of craziness every now and then.” The Romani witch gave a mischievous wink.
He quickly noticed that his intense attention made Marshall blush; he found it quite appealing, very sexy.
He liked the effect he was having on the man.
“Maybe I just have one of those faces, like someone you see in passing who reminds you of an old friend—or a past lover.”
“That’s it!” Marshall exclaimed, a little thrown by those last few words, but intensely intrigued nonetheless. “Heathrow! You’re the guy I saw at the airport! We shared a—well, we shared —”
“A friendly glance across a crowded terminal,” the Romani witch interrupted, finishing Marshall’s sentence for him. “Perhaps, if I may be so bold, even amorous?”
Marshall chuckled softly as he leaned back in his plush, high-backed chair, upholstered in luxurious sapphire blue velvet. “Yes, I believe that last part is accurate.” His face heated as he smiled expressively.
“You have a nice smile, Marshall—wide and inviting.”
Excited and nervous, the Englishman gulped, his pulse racing; it had been some time since he had heard another man complimenting him, showing such interest. “I didn’t see you on my flight.”
“No, I caught a later one; I was just there early,” the Romani witch explained. “I guess it was serendipitous that I happened to be there at that time, staring at you as you turned around.”
Serendipity? That’s what I’ve been waiting for. This is so strange and so wonderful. Can I hope this is something? Should I? “You were staring at me?”
“Oh yes,” the Romani witch purred. “Of course, I was watching you. You’re incredibly handsome.
How could anyone resist looking at such a face?
I certainly couldn’t. I wanted to approach you, but you got away from me before I could come over and introduce myself.
Meeting up here, completely by chance, has got to mean something, don’t you think? ”
“I—well, I would like to think that. And if I may be so bold, I like how comfortable you are in your own skin, here, out in public. At least, that’s the impression I get.”
“What do you mean?” the Romani witch asked, intrigued, reclining all the way back in the extremely comfy, deep-seated booth.
“Well, it’s this pervasive view that we queers are all inherently conflicted, even tormented about our homosexuality. I don’t believe this is true. At least, this hasn’t been my experience.
“Because of my career, I’ve travelled all over the world, and despite the bigotry that exists everywhere, I’ve encountered plenty of queer men and women who are very happy and content, many of whom are in committed relationships.
They don’t hide who they are. They’re careful, of course, even guarded at times, but they pursue the happiness they deserve.
They live it. I deserve that. You deserve it.
“Sure, you’re gonna get the ones who are scared to be themselves, fearing that it will destroy their careers, especially these Hollywood types that I’ve worked with.
I’m in the film industry. There are plenty who are afraid that refusing to live a sham life will irreparably damage their relationships with their family and friends, too, maybe even send them to prison. Sadly, that’s always a possibility.
“Look, the danger is real, so I get the fear, but listen, life has never been an easy journey for anyone. Yes, it’s harder for others, especially queers and other minorities, so I won’t judge anyone who chooses to stay hidden.
Still, not all of us feel that we need or want to.
And not all of us hate ourselves. We just have to be smart about how we go about things.
Again, I’ve been all over the world and seen firsthand that a lot of us are making it work. ”
The Romani witch took a sip of his drink. As he pulled the glass away from his lips, he raised an eyebrow and asked in a solemn tone, “Who said I was a queer?”
Marshall’s eyes went wide. “Well, I—I assumed—I mean, you said—! I’m sorry if I’ve misunderstood your intentions here, really I — oh god!”
The Romani witch let out a short chuckle, almost resembling a snort.
“I’m kidding, Marshall,” he said playfully.
“Just a little fun.” He then slipped off his right shoe, slid his socked foot across the carpeted floor beneath the table and playfully rested it on Marshall’s crotch, giving a few gentle pats to the noticeable bulge. “Games are fun.”
Marshall was tongue-tied. He was hot and bothered, as well.
“Thank you for being so honest about your feelings and opinions,” the Romani witch said sincerely. “I’m glad that you feel you can trust me, and I’m pleased, even honoured, that you think so well of me, in such a short time.”
He continued to massage the now firm cock in Marshall’s pants with his foot. He was exceptionally deft with his toes, having had centuries of practice using all his fingers and toes, especially his tongue, in giving pleasure to Aeneas in his myriad of red-haired bodies.