Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
THE PHONE FEELS HEAVY IN MY HAND , plastered against the side of my face as I try to take in what Aaron’s just said to me. How in the world am I supposed to respond to that?
TWELVE HOURS EARLIER
I’m so lost in my thoughts about Aaron and Paolo at work the next morning that I don’t even notice that Kat’s come up to me until she sits on my desk.
“What’s going on with you?” she says, swinging her legs. “You have a weird sad-but-not-sad look on your face.”
“My dinner with Aaron and his friends last night was not what I thought it was going to be. He was trying to set me up with one of his friends.”
“He was trying to… Oh, shit. I guess Aaron Part Two is a no-go, then,” Kat says. “Aw, babe, are you okay? You must be okay because you’re here instead of on your couch eating Cheetos and watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta .”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I know I should be devastated, since I’ve been dreaming about a chance like this for years, but I don’t know. Something’s changed. I talked to my uncle about it last night, and he made me feel better about the situation.”
“Ohmigod, your uncle. I know I only met him for, like, two seconds, but he’s my new favorite person. I’m so glad you guys reconnected.” Kat scratches her chin. “Actually, do you think we can hang out with him together or something? I think it would be so much fun. He’s exactly like you except there’s more of him to love. Ooh!” she says.
“What?”
“Do you think he’d adopt me? I could be one of his drag daughters.”
“Possibly,” I say. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Thank you! And in return,” she says with a huge grin, “I’m giving you a present.”
“If it’s another subscription from your cheese-of-the-month club, I’m not interested. There’s a gorgonzola smell in my fridge that I still can’t get rid of. At least, I think it’s gorgonzola.”
“Gross. No, it’s not that. I snagged you an invite to Susan’s party tonight. She’s hosting a fancy dinner for the execs and the board of directors at her place. I’ll be there, and I’ll have a surprise for you. Two, in fact. You’ll adore the theme. Glitter and Be Gay. My idea! Inspired by you, of course. Though Susan nixed the rainbow-colored caviar because she has HORRIBLE TASTE,” Kat says, yelling that last bit so Susan can hear.
“Sure. I’ll come,” I say.
“Yay! It’ll be the perfect way to forget about Middle-American Meathead.” Kat slides off my desk. “Dress to impress. Although not an actual dress. It’s not that kind of a party.”
“You said the theme was Glitter and Be Gay.”
“True,” Kat says, strolling back to her desk. “Wear what you like.”
AFTER WORK , I dust off my suit and drive over to Orinda for a night of canapes and corporate conversation, thankful for the distraction from my tumultuous love life.
As I park along the side of the long gravel driveway, I hear the squeal of electronic equipment being plugged in, followed by the snap of a stick against a snare and several thumps of a bass drum.
I walk in through the open oak doors and am floored by what I see. Susan’s place is incredible. It’s a ranch-style home, furnished with Nordic-style furniture, with an expansive view of the redwoods. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the back I see a lit-up terraced patio and garden area. A few caterers are there, just starting to set up.
Along with Kat and her band.
“Rex!” Kat yells when I make it out to the back. She’s in a gold sequin crop top, leather skirt, and black stilettos. The Nine Tails girls are also dressed to kill and setting up their instruments and audio equipment in a corner of the enormous patio.
“Okay, this is definitely a nice surprise,” I say. “I was going to ask you when your first gig would be.”
“This is it! When I told Susan that I got back together with the girls, she said she’d hire us for something.”
I look inside and see Susan milling about with a few early guests, having casual conversations and making a backless black halter jumpsuit look like a million dollars.
“She’s so calm right now. I’ve never seen her like that,” I say.
“Her job is so stressful. So she ends up screaming a lot.”
“Yeah, at you.”
“Eh. I don’t mind. Actually, she kind of reminds me of my mom. We yell at each other all the time, too. But that’s just how it is in our family. We’re just as loud when we laugh about how dumb our fights are after. And I’d rather Susan lose her cool with me than with the other execs. Those wussies couldn’t take it like I can.”
Susan sees us watching her through the window and waves. Kat waves back.
“You’re something else, Kat Sniegowski,” I say.
“Hells yeah I am!” she says, pushing me inside. “Now go get something to drink in the kitchen. We’re about to start our first set. You’ll find your second surprise there.”
I wander back in, admiring the dark hardwood floors and modern light fixtures. They don’t look as great with the iridescent streamers, brightly colored flowers, and rainbow decorations that have been placed throughout, though. Rainbows aren’t always the way to go.
I’m trying to make sense of a sparkly dining table centerpiece that looks like it’s been glitterbombed by children when I stop right in my tracks. “Paolo?”
At first glance, someone else might have mistaken him for another one of the caterer’s waiters. He has on the same black slacks, white dress shirt, and black bow tie as everyone else, but to me, he stands apart, exuding an air of authority that’s a bit surprising and extremely sexy. He’s also frozen in place, staring at me as if he’s just seen a leprechaun among all the rainbows.
“Rex? What are you doing here?”
“Kat invited me. We both work for all those people out there. She’s the one that hired you guys, I’m assuming?”
“Kat’s here, too? I had no idea. I haven’t been out back yet. AquaMarine doesn’t usually do catering jobs, but the CEO of your company insisted. Something about wanting to please her favorite employee. You look nice, by the way.”
I flip my wrist casually over my ensemble. “Oh, this old thing?”
Paolo lights up at the gesture and looks as if he’s about to say something but doesn’t.
“What?” I ask.
He smiles and shakes it off. “Nothing. It’s just nice to see you. How did things go with your… uh, dinner date?”
“Not great,” I say.
He smiles, lighting up the room. “Oh, yeah?”
A glass crashes in the kitchen, followed by an expletive from one of the waitstaff. We both turn. The floor is now bright red with a huge splotch of gazpacho.
“I should go help them,” Paolo says, touching my arm.
“Yes. Please,” I reply. “Go do your thing.” I grin as he hurries off.
After snagging a glass of wine from the kitchen, I head back outside to listen to Kat and Nine Tails play one of their original songs and try not to spy inside, watching Paolo as he helps clean. It’s hard not to admire him, kneeling down on the ground, mopping up the mess with the other cater waiters in his fancy starched white shirt, tailored to flatter his torso, and his pants, so beguilingly tight at the—
“Impressive, no?”
I spit out the sip of wine I’ve just taken.
“Sorry for startling you,” Susan says, placing a hand on my back as I gently cough.
“No, I’m sorry. I was just lost in thought. What did you say?”
“I said—impressive, right? Kat and her band?”
“Yes! Right. Impressive. So impressive,” I say, still watching Paolo out of the side of my eye, despite myself. I try to focus on Kat and Nine Tails. Though there are only a few guests so far, and Kat and her band are really here for background music only, they look as happy as if they were performing in front of a sold-out auditorium.
“You did a nice thing, hiring them to play,” I say to Susan.
“It’s the least I could do.” She sips her champagne. “Kat takes very good care of me at work.”
“Funny. She said sort of the reverse. That you reminded her of her mom,” I say. Susan crinkles her brow, and I immediately regret telling her that. “No, I mean—”
“Yes, that is funny,” Susan says. “I’ve never had a daughter. I’ve always wondered what it would be like. A lot like what we have, I suppose? Complicated. A little messy at times. But it’s something I don’t think I could live without.”
Kat turns with her microphone, singing directly to us.
“Mother-daughter relationships can be that way. Things get rocky,” I say, thinking initially about Eva and my mom. And then I think of Tito Melboy and me. “We just have to work through it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Susan says, holding her glass up to mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I say, looking back inside again to see Paolo done with cleaning and now serving a tray of mini-empanadas to some newly arrived guests.
“Do you know him?” Susan asks, following my gaze back inside the house. “You can’t seem to take your eyes off him.”
“Him who? The waiter?”
“He’s not a waiter. Those are his people.”
“His people? What do you mean?”
“AquaMarine is his restaurant,” she says. “Sorry, would you excuse me?” Susan gently squeezes my elbow and saunters over to one of the directors.
My brain jolts with awareness. I try to think back to the times I’ve seen him at the restaurant. He served food. He also seemed to cook the food sometimes? He worked when he wanted, where he wanted. I could never figure out what it was that he actually did.
And now, as I look back inside, I realize that he’s managing the others. Telling them what to do and where to go. Showing them how to operate the equipment and assemble the serving plates and make the cocktails. Paolo’s not just one of the workers. He’s their boss.
I make a beeline for Paolo, who has gone back into the kitchen.
“Back so soon?” he asks.
“Are you the manager?”
He chuckles. “Why? Do you have a complaint?” He adjusts his shirt, re-tucking it into his pants. I notice that it might be one size too small for him. It strains at the buttons, bulging out and showing a little bit of skin underneath.
I make myself look up at his face. “I’m serious, Paolo. Do you own AquaMarine?”
“No, but my family does,” he replies. “And six other restaurants like it. Only two here in the States, though. AquaMarine in SF and Bamboo Fork in Los Angeles. The rest are in the Philippines.”
Even I’ve heard of Bamboo Fork. It made this year’s New York Times list of the top one hundred restaurants in America. “How did I not know this?” I say.
“I told you we were in the business, didn’t I?”
He did. But stupid me, I assumed he was talking about one tiny little restaurant in the Philippines.
“My dad hosts this TV show,” Paolo adds. “Where he goes around the world to try different dishes and then goes back home to try to replicate what he’s eaten. It’s called Eats Meets West . I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”
My mind reels. Mom and Eva watch Eats Meets West on TFC every Saturday to vacation vicariously and get good cooking tips. It’s been on the air for years. “Your dad is Sonny Sazon?”
“Yes,” Paolo says.
Sonny Sazon’s mother, Ligaya Sazon, is one of the most influential Filipino cooks of all time. Her cookbook, Cooking with Ligaya , is in every Filipino household. My mother used to refer to hers all the time when I was growing up. I can still see it, sitting on top of the microwave, its yellowed pages folded over and worn down from constant use.
Paolo is Filipino food royalty.
“My mom and Eva are big fans of your family,” is all I can manage to say.
“I can come over and cook for them sometime.”
“You’d really like to, wouldn’t you?” I ask.
“Uh, yes? That’s why I just offered.”
“No, I mean…” My face gets warm. “You really seem like you’re in your element right now. Making all the food. Like how you were at my place when I told you how much I loved your bagel sandwiches. You look happy. Really happy.”
Paolo stares at me. Through me. As if the words I’ve just uttered are a jumble on the wall behind me, and he’s attempting to put them into the right order.
“You’re right,” he finally says. “I am happy. This makes me happy.”
“Good,” I say. “And—”
“And you make me happy, too,” he says quickly, as if making sure he doesn’t lose the nerve to say what’s on his mind before stopping himself.
“Me?” My breathing stops. No air seems to be reaching my lungs. I force myself to inhale. “I… I…”
A cater waiter yells, “Hey, Paolo, can you help us? The fires under the chafing dishes are kinda out of control.”
Paolo doesn’t respond to the call. He just looks at me, his face full of anticipation.
“Paolo!”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t want the place to burn down,” he says, looking slightly upset. He heads back to the servers.
My mind struggles to process what he’s just said. Not because I don’t believe him. But because he’s just confirmed that he feels exactly like I do.
Paolo makes me happy, too. More happy than I’ve ever been. Because not only does he know and like me, he knows and likes all of me. Regina and Rex. Every part I’ve been scared to show the world. And to my dad. And to Aaron. I’ve never felt afraid to be myself around Paolo. With him, I’ve never felt like being Regina Moon Dee was something to be ashamed of. I realize that, from the minute he first laid eyes on me, he’s always made me feel beautiful. Not just when I was in drag. Even that first night, when he looked up at me through those Clark Kent glasses of his, smiling at my dumb outfit and excited that I might sing something for him.
I like Paolo. A lot.
Aaron and I were never meant to be; that much is clear now. It should be easy to just tell Paolo how I feel. But I’m having trouble coming up with the words. And this isn’t exactly the best place to have a heart-to-heart. Not when we’re both on the job. Also, will it be an issue working together at the Pink Unicorn? Will that make things weird?
My first instinct is to ask Kat for advice, but I see that the band is on a break and she’s talking to Susan. They’re drinking together, having a good time. I don’t want to disturb them.
I text my uncle. Hi Tito. Can I talk to you about something if you have a minute? Call me when you get the chance.
Three dots pop up in response, and I watch them, waiting for the full reply to appear.
My phone rings. I click immediately to accept it. “Hello?”
“Rex?” says a voice that is not Tito Melboy’s.
I double-check the caller ID. It’s Aaron. “Hey,” I say, exhaling a stress breath. “Listen, I’m really sorry about bailing on dinner last night.”
“That’s fine,” he croaks. “It’s not that.”
“Wait, is everything okay?”
“No, everything’s not okay.” His voice is wobbly, raw. He sounds in bad shape.
“What’s going on?”
“My mom…” he says, then stops.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She did have a health scare. An ulcer. But for some reason, she thought she was dying so she had this come-to-Jesus moment and called me. Said she wanted to tell me something before it was too late. Something she kept from me about her. And Bryan.”
I already knew Aaron’s mother had known Bryan. His mom was the one who had told Aaron to get in touch with Bryan when he moved to the Bay Area. “What is it?” I ask.
“They’ve been lying to me. This whole time. My mom said my dad was just some jerk who left her and never came back. I guess that’s the truth, come to think of it. Because that jerk is him.”
“What?”
“Bryan,” Aaron says. “Bryan is my dad.”