Chapter 19
Shane
We had a date. An official date. In all the time we had known each other, we had more or less met by chance. At the beach, in my trailer, in our cabin, at breakfast.
I stood somewhat helplessly in front of my clothes. When was the last time I had been on a date? It must have been during school.
All my other regular arrangements had not involved dates.
A certain uneasiness came over me. I wanted things to work out with Ruben.
It suddenly was imperative to me that this date be outstanding. I needed to convince Ruben, make it clear to him that I was the partner he had been waiting for his whole life.
Putting so much pressure on myself was sure to make for a relaxed evening. Not! What was I thinking, stressing myself out like this?
Maybe I should wear a button-down? First, we’d drive to Burlington, which would take over an hour.
We would be going to some restaurant Ruben had found, and my brother had recommended an immersive art experience to me.
Beauford Delaney’s paintings were made accessible to a wide audience in an unusual way in a multimedia installation.
Nash himself had raved about it, having already seen the exhibition in New York, that he had been making me curious for weeks.
Now I hoped that Ruben would find the exhibition as compelling. Maybe I should have asked him what he wanted to do? After all, he had consulted me about the restaurant. Not that I could have contributed anything.
A button-down was over the top for the immersion. For the restaurant, it was a must.
I hated decisions like this. My life had been much easier when I didn’t care about anything.
I paused, startled. I hadn’t been indifferent to everything. But I hadn’t attached the same importance to these things that some people generally did.
I had tried to do the same when Dick III had bluntly informed me at our school graduation that he planned to continue being served by me when he came home. However, it went without saying that this arrangement would have to remain a secret.
After all, he was unwilling to risk his position in the New York debutante marriage market, his fraternity networks, and his future career prospects.
I had carried my indifference to social conventions like a shield in front of me. Now I stood there. I was unaware of how important it was to Ruben how I dressed, nor how important it was to me.
No matter what I wore, it wouldn’t change who I was.
It would only change how I was perceived.
And the only thing that mattered to me was how Ruben saw me.
My gut feeling told me that he didn’t care about such superficialities.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have become as important to me as he had in the last few weeks.
I energetically put on a pair of tight black jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt. I added my Chelsea boots. That should work.
A glance at my phone told me I still had time. Ruben was at a meeting with some important chef at the hotel. Several chefs from the surrounding resorts had been invited to talk to him about some kind of training session. I was supposed to pick him up in half an hour.
I hadn’t seen him all day because he had gotten ready for the event after his early shift and I hadn’t come back until later.
I slowly made my way through the small grounds to the back exit of the resort. From there, I reached the staff parking lot where Ruben had parked his car.
I had my cap in my pocket and kneaded the wool indecisively. It wasn’t worth messing up my hair for those few minutes.
Adriel came out of the hallway to the staff dining room and nodded to me.
“Are you on your way to lunch?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes, but not here. We’re going to Burlington.”
He smiled mischievously. “You and . . . ?”
Shaking my head, I made a disapproving sound. “Tsk, tsk, Adriel! You haven’t gone and joined the gossip mill, have you?”
He raised his hands defensively and grinned even wider. “This was my attempt to be a good boss and show interest in my employees.”
“And you don’t even blush when you say that oh so casually.”
“Why should I?” He laughed openly. “If you don’t want to share, that’s your business, of course.”
I glanced at the exit door. I was torn between the need to protect Ruben and whatever might be there, and the urge to give in to the euphoria bubbling up inside me and tell Adriel how much I was looking forward to this evening.
“Adriel, why am I so terribly nervous when I’m happy?”
I didn’t know which of us was more surprised that I had said that. In any case, Adriel immediately stopped laughing and smiled gently at me.
“It’s the same with being an artist, right? Even if you love the stage, there’s always a good dose of stage fright when it’s important to you.”
His words rushed through me, setting off a rush of effervescent bubbles in my stomach.
“Wow, boss. You’ve hit the nail on the head.”
He squeezed my upper arm briefly. “I’m happy for you.”
I hadn’t expected that after what Adriel had said in his opening speech about stress between employees.
I watched him thoughtfully as I heard laughter coming from the building.
I turned around and saw through the wide glass windows that the meeting Ruben was attending was coming to an end.
Course participants streamed out of the open double doors. It was interesting to observe the people Ruben worked with. They were all wearing suits and business attire, dressed in their finest clothes.
A cook I knew vaguely from breakfast came through the door. I automatically reached out and stopped her. Instead of going through myself, I stood still and more people hurried through. They came up to me with smiles on their faces.
“You make an excellent doorman, Shane,” said a slender guy. Did I know him?
“Thanks!” I joked back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ruben stepping out of the conference room. I let go of the door and walked into the entrance area. He didn’t see me, but this way I could get his attention.
“Ruben, wait a moment.”
An older gentleman held him back, and Ruben turned to a small group of people.
Immediately, everyone talked to each other in French. Apparently, Ruben told a joke, because everyone around him burst out laughing.
The oldest person in the group, perhaps the speaker, was talking to Ruben. Ruben shook his head with a slight smile, as if embarrassed by the attention. I didn’t understand a single word. They didn’t even say “oui.”
I eyes drifted down to myself. Jeans and a basic sports shirt.
My gaze wandered back to the group. Ruben looked like he had stepped out of a magazine: “30 Under 30 Chefs” could have been the headline.
On a path without me.
“ . . . you haven’t made it out of this shithole.
You live the lowest of lowlifes, while everyone around you is achieving something in their lives.
” Why did I let Richard’s words get to me?
Why did they stick to me, refusing to let go, while the person who uttered them took off at the first opportunity?
Same as Ruben.
I watched the group talk with animated energy. What reason was there to talk in French?
No. Not as Ruben. That had been something completely different.
He turned his head abruptly and stared directly at me.
There I stood—frozen in place. Like a package that had been dropped on the stairs and had been forgotten ever since.
A smile spread across Ruben’s face, and I wasn’t imagining it. He probably thought I hadn’t noticed him checking me out. But his red cheeks gave him away. I was pretty sure the color wasn’t only from the heat in here.
He quickly turned to the group, then shook hands with the leader. Last, they switched to English at the end.
“Think about it, Ruben. And give me a call!”
“I will. Thank you very much.”
Ruben waved to the group and finally walked over to me.
He appeared excited, exhausted, and overexcited.
Unable to decide, I stood there helplessly and gave a weak, halfhearted smile.
His expression changed, and he cocked an eyebrow. “Everything okay?” He gently stroked my hand.
Unfortunately, however, he withdrew it and nodded toward the exit door. “Shall we go?”
I nodded and followed him. With my hand on his lower back, we walked through the door.
The gesture was completely unnecessary and stemmed more from my helplessness than from my desire to be a gentleman.
Like a caveman, I wanted to make it clear to everyone who was watching us that Ruben belonged to me.
Only I knew that at that moment, the thought was more wishful thinking than reality.
We had been driving through the winter landscape for a few minutes when Ruben glanced quickly at me, and then back at the road.
“Now tell me. What’s going on? You’re acting strange.”
I shook my head and tried to ignore the question. I wanted to return to my state of carefree relaxation.
Slowly but surely, the certainty dawned on me that I would only be able to return to that state once I had had an honest conversation with Ruben. I needed reassurance—certainty that we were on the same page.
“We need to talk,” I said.
For an eternity, there was dead silence in the car. The music from the radio faded away. The resistance of the tires on the road was a background hum that was swallowed up by the tension in the driver’s cab. Until Ruben finally leaned over the steering wheel with a terrifying groan.
“What’s wrong?” Startled, I sat up straighter and put my hand on his shoulder.
“You want to talk? Now? On the way to our first date? Is this our last date? Then let’s turn around right now. I’m not going along with this.”
“What?” I stared at him in disbelief. He eyed me like a Labrador that had been caught raiding the pantry and was now waiting for its punishment.
“Come on, tell me!” Ruben urged. “Have you changed your mind? It’s okay. I just want to know.”
“No! I haven’t changed my mind,” I insisted. “Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk.” Why did my so-called openness disappear when I needed it the most? Why was it so difficult?